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MY FIRST SUMMER IN
SIERRA

CC4

Reference

i BE
OOM..

REF 917.944

MUIRt JOHNf

MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE

SIERRA

NNBR 931373524

JANS 1994

1M

The New York
Public Library

Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations

NY PUBLIC LIBRARY THE BRANCH LIBRARIES

3 3333 07949 3272

My First Summer in the Sierra

Liberty Cap, with Vernal and Nevada Falls

My First Summer
in the Sierra

By

John Muir

^ M

With Illustrations from Drawings

made by the Author in 1869

and from Photographs by

Herbert W, Gleason

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

191 1

COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY JOHN MUIR
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published June

/ : V. 7 i 7 - / / pKOFEKTY OF TK A>

CITY OF ^-

FRWfi

Sierra Club of California
Faithful Defender of
the People's Playgrounds

Illustrations

PLATES

Reproduced from photographs by Herbert W. Gleason,
several of which were taken while in the company of the
author, who is seen in the one facing page 2,16.

LIBERTY CAP, WITH VERNAL AND NEVADA FALLS Frontispiece
WHITE MARIPOSA TULIP (Calochortus albus) . . .22

A FOREST BROOK 46

A SUGAR PINE 68

A MOUNTAIN STREAM uz

A GLACIAL BOULDER 134

THUNDER-STORM OVER YOSEMITE 166

FOLIAGE AND CONES OF SIERRA HEMLOCK (Tsuga Mertensi-
ana) ............ 204

MAGNIFICENT SILVER FIRS (MR. MUIR IN FOREGROUND) . 216
TUOLUMNE MEADOW FROM CATHEDRAL PEAK . . . 266

SIERRA RANGE FROM MONO CRATER 308

IN TUOLUMNE SEQUOIA GROVE 350

ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT

From sketches made by the author in 1869.

HORSESHOE BEND, MERCED RIVER 17

ON SECOND BENCH. EDGE OF THE MAIN FOREST BELT,
ABOVE COULTERVILLE, NEAR GREELEY's MlLL . . .21

CAMP, NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED . .41

[ vii ]

Illustrations

MOUNTAIN LIVE OAK (^uercus chrysolepis), EIGHT FEET IN

DIAMETER 50

SUGAR PINE 67

DOUGLAS SQUIRREL OBSERVING BROTHER MAN ... 92

DIVIDE BETWEEN THE TUOLUMNE AND THE MERCED, BELOW
HAZEL GREEN 115

TRACK OF SINGING DANCING GRASSHOPPER IN THE AIR
OVER NORTH DOME 186

ABIES MAGNIFICA (MT. CLARK, TOP OF SOUTH DOME,
MT. STARR KING) 191

ILLUSTRATING GROWTH OF NEW PINE FROM BRANCH BELOW
THE BREAK OF Axis OF SNOW-CRUSHED TREE . . -193

APPROACH OF DOME CREEK TO YOSEMITE .... 201

JUNIPERS IN TENAYA CA^ON 221

VIEW OF TENAYA LAKE SHOWING CATHEDRAL PEAK . . 263

ONE OF THE TRIBUTARY FOUNTAINS OF THE TUOLUMNE
CANON WATERS, ON THE NORTH SIDE OF THE HOFFMAN
RANGE 265

GLACIER MEADOW, ON THE HEADWATERS OF THE TUO-
LUMNE, 9500 FEET ABOVE THE SEA 274

MONO LAKE AND VOLCANIC CONES, LOOKING SOUTH . . 306

HIGHEST MONO VOLCANIC CONES (NEAR VIEW) . . . 307

ONE OF THE HIGHEST MT. RITTER FOUNTAINS . . . 323
GLACIER MEADOW STREWN WITH MORAINE BOULDERS,

10,000 FEET ABOVE THE SEA (NEAR MT. DANA) . -333

FRONT OF CATHEDRAL PEAK 335

VIEW OF UPPER TUOLUMNE VALLEY 340

My First Summer in the Sierra

OF THE CITY F SEW
til i\f V08K 1T1HIC

First Summer in
the Sierra

1869

**bffiS> N the great Central Valley of
California there are only two
seasons, spring and summer.
The spring begins with the
first rainstorm, which usually falls in No-
vember. In a few months the wonderful
flowery vegetation is in full bloom, and by
the end of May it is dead and dry and crisp,
as if every plant had been roasted in an
oven.

Then the lolling, panting flocks and herds
are driven to the high, cool, green pastures
of the Sierra. I was longing for the moun-
tains about this time, but money was scarce
and I could n't see how a bread supply was

[ 3 ]

My First Summer

to be kept up. While I was anxiously brood-
ing on the bread problem, so troublesome to
wanderers, and trying to believe that I might
learn to live like the wild animals, gleaning
nourishment here and there from seeds,
berries, etc., sauntering and climbing in
joyful independence of money or baggage,
Mr. Delaney, a sheep-owner, for whom I
had worked a few weeks, called on me, and
offered to engage me to go with his shep-
herd and flock to the headwaters of the

Merced and Tuolumne rivers, the verv re-

j

gion I had most in mind. I was in the mood
to accept work of any kind that would
take me into the mountains whose treasures
I had tasted last summer in the Yosemite
region. The flock, he explained, would
be moved gradually higher through the
successive forest belts as the snow melted,
stopping for a few weeks at the best places
we came to. These I thought would be
good centres of observation from which I
might be able to make many telling excur-

[4 ]

In the Sierra

sions within a radius of eight or ten miles
of the camps to learn something of the
plants, animals, and rocks ; for he assured
me that I should be left perfectly free to
follow my studies. I judged, however, that
I was in no way the right man for the place,
and freely explained my shortcomings, con-
fessing that I was wholly unacquainted with
the topography of the upper mountains,
the streams that would have to be crossed,
and the wild sheep-eating animals, etc. ; in
short that, what with bears, coyotes, rivers,
canons, and thorny, bewildering chaparral, I
feared that half or more of his flock would
be lost. Fortunately these shortcomings
seemed insignificant to Mr. Delaney. The
main thing, he said, was to have a man about
the camp whom he could trust to see that
the shepherd did his duty, and he assured me
that the difficulties that seemed so formid-
able at a distance would vanish as we went
on; encouraging me further by saying that
the shepherd would do all the herding, that

[ 5 ]

My First Summer

I could study plants and rocks and scenery
as much as I liked, and that he would him-
self accompany us to the first main camp
and make occasional visits to our higher
ones to replenish our store of provisions
and see how we prospered. Therefore I
concluded to go, though still fearing, when
I saw the silly sheep bouncing one by one
through the narrow gate of the home cor-
ral to be counted, that of the two thousand
and fifty many would never return.

I was fortunate in getting a fine St. Ber-
nard dog for a companion. His master, a
hunter with whom I was slightly acquaint-
ed, came to me as soon as he heard that I
was going to spend the summer in the Sierra
and begged me to take his favorite dog,
Carlo, with me, for he feared that if he
were compelled to stay all summer on the
plains the fierce heat might be the death of
him. " I think I can trust you to be kind to
him/ 3 he said, "and I am sure he will be
good to you. He knows all about the moun-

[6]

In the Sierra

tain animals, will guard the camp, assist in
managing the sheep, and in every way be
found able and faithful/' Carlo knew we
were talking about him, watched our faces,
and listened so attentively that I fancied he
understood us. Calling him by name, I asked
him if he was willing to go with me. He
looked me in the face with eyes expressing
wonderful intelligence, then turned to his
master, and after permission was given by
a wave of the hand toward me and a fare-
well patting caress, he quietly followed me
as if he perfectly understood all that had
been said and had known me always.

June 3,1869.- -This morning provisions,
camp-kettles, blankets,plant-press, etc., were
packed on two horses, the flock headed for
the tawny foothills, and away we sauntered
in a cloud of dust: Mr. Delaney, bony and
tall, with sharply hacked profile like Don
Quixote, leading the pack-horses, Billy, the
proud shepherd, a Chinaman and a Digger

[7]

My First Summer

Indian to assist in driving. for the first few
days in the brushy foothills, and myself with
notebook tied to my belt.

The home ranch from which we set out
is on the south side of the Tuolumne River
near French Bar, where the foothills of
metamorphic gold-bearing slates dip below
the stratified deposits of the Central Valley.
We had not gone more than a mile before
some of the old leaders of the flock showed
by the eager, inquiring way they ran and
looked ahead that they were thinking of
the high pastures they had enjoyed last sum-
mer. Soon the whole flock seemed to be
hopefully excited, the mothers calling their
lambs, the lambs replying in tones wonder-
fully human, their fondly quavering calls in-
terrupted now and then by hastily snatched
mouthfuls of withered grass. Amid all this
seeming babel of baas as they streamed over
the hills every mother and child recognized
each other's voice. In case a tired lamb,
half asleep in the smothering dust, should

[8]

In the Sierra

fail to answer, its mother would come run-
ning back through the flock toward the
spot whence its last response was heard, and
refused to be comforted until she found it,
the one of a thousand, though to our eyes
and ears all seemed alike.

The flock traveled at the rate of about a
mile an hour, outspread in the form of an
irregular triangle, about a hundred yards
wide at the base, and a hundred and fifty
yards long, with a crooked, ever-changing
point made up of the strongest foragers,
called the "leaders/' which, with the most
active of those scattered along the ragged
sides of the "main body," hastily explored
nooks in the rocks and bushes for grass and
leaves; the lambs and feeble old mothers
dawdling in the rear were called the "tail
end."

About noon the heat was hard to bear ;
the poor sheep panted pitifully and tried to
stop in the shade of every tree they came to,
while we gazed with eager longing through

[9]

My First Summer

the dim burning glare toward the snowy
mountains and streams, though not one was
in sight. The landscape is only wavering
foothills roughened here and there with
bushes and trees and out-cropping masses of
slate. The trees, mostly the blue oak (jsjuercus
Doug/asii\,are about thirty to forty feet high,
with pale blue-green leaves and white bark,
sparsely planted on the thinnest soil or in
crevices of rocks beyond the reach of grass
fires. The slates in many places rise abruptly
through the tawny grass in sharp lichen-
covered slabs like tombstones in deserted
burying-grounds. With the exception of
the oak and four or five species of manza-
nita and ceanothus, the vegetation of the
foothills is mostly the same as that of the
plains. I saw this region in the early spring,
when it was a charming landscape garden
full of birds and bees and flowers. Now the
scorching weather makes every thing dreary.
The ground is full of cracks, lizards glide
about on the rocks, and ants in amazing

[ 10]

In the Sierra

numbers, whose tiny sparks of life only burn
the brighter with the heat, fairly quiver
with unquenchable energy as they run in
long lines to fight and gather food. How it
comes that they do not dry to a crisp in
a few seconds' exposure to such sun-fire is
marvelous. A few rattlesnakes lie coiled in
out-of-the-way places, but are seldom seen.
Magpies and crows, usually so noisy, are silent
now, standing in mixed flocks on the ground
beneath the best shade trees, with bills wide
open and wings drooped, too breathless to
speak; the quails also are trying to keep in
the shade about the few tepid alkaline water-
holes; cottontail rabbits are running from
shade to shade among the ceanothus brush,
and occasionally the long-eared hare is seen
cantering gracefully across the wider open-
ings.

After a short noon rest in a grove, the
poor dust-choked flock was again driven
ahead over the brushy hills, but the dim
roadway we had been following faded away

My First Summer

just where it was most needed, compelling
us to stop to look about us and get our
bearings. The Chinaman seemed to think
we were lost, and chattered in pidgin Eng-
lish concerning the abundance of "litty
stick" (chaparral), while the Indian silently
scanned the billowy ridges and gulches for
openings. Pushing through the thorny
jungle, we at length discovered a road trend-
ing toward Coulterville, which we followed
until an hour before sunset, when we reached
a dry ranch and camped for the night.

Camping in the foothills with a flock
of sheep is simple and easy, but far from
pleasant. The sheep were allowed to pick
what they could find in the neighborhood
until after sunset, watched by the shepherd,
while the others gathered wood, made a
fire, cooked, unpacked and fed the horses,
etc. About dusk the weary sheep were
gathered on the highest open spot near
camp, where they willingly bunched close
together, and after each mother had found

[ 12 ]

In the Sierra

her lamb and suckled it, all lay down and
required no attention until morning.

Supper was announced by the call,
" Grub ! ' Each with a tin plate helped him-
self direct from the pots and pans while
chatting about such camp studies as sheep-
feed, mines, coyotes, bears, or adventures
during the memorable gold days of pay-
dirt. The Indian kept in the background,
saying never a word, as if he belonged to
another species. The meal finished, the
dogs were fed, the smokers smoked by the
fire, and under the influences of fullness and
tobacco the calm that settled on their faces
seemed almost divine, something like the
mellow meditative glow portrayed on the
countenances of saints. Then suddenly, as
if awakening from a dream, each with a
sigh or a grunt knocked the ashes out of
his pipe, yawned, gazed at the fire a few
moments, said, "Well, I believe I'll turn
in," and straightway vanished beneath his
blankets. The fire smouldered and flickered

My First Summer

an hour or two longer; the stars shone
brighter ; coons, coyotes, and owls stirred
the silence here and there, while crickets
and hylas made a cheerful, continuous mu-
sic, so fitting and full that it seemed a part
of the very body of the night. The only dis-
cordance came from a snoring sleeper, and
the coughing sheep with dust in their
throats. In the starlight the flock looked
like a big gray blanket.

June 4. - The camp was astir at day-
break ; coffee, bacon, and beans formed the
breakfast, followed by quick dish-washing
and packing. A general bleating began about
sunrise. As soon as a mother ewe arose, her
lamb came bounding and bunting for its
breakfast, and after the thousand youngsters
had been suckled the flock began to nibble
and spread. The restless wethers with raven-
ous appetites were the first to move, but dared
not go far from the main body. Billy and
the Indian and the Chinaman kept them
headed along the weary road, and allowed

[ 14 ]

In the Sierra

i

them to pick up what little they could find
on a breadth of about a quarter of a mile.
But as several flocks had already gone ahead
of us, scarce a leaf, green or dry, was left ;
therefore the starving flock had to be hur-
ried on over the bare, hot hills to the nearest
of the green pastures, about twenty or thirty
miles from here.

The pack-animals were led by Don Quix-
ote, a heavy rifle over his shoulder intended
for bears and wolves. This day has been as
hot and dusty as the first, leading over gently
sloping brown hills, with mostly the same
vegetation, excepting the strange-looking
Sabine pine (Pinus Sabiniana), which here
forms small groves or is scattered among the
blue oaks. The trunk divides at a height of fif-
teen or twenty feet into two or more stems,
outleaning or nearly upright, with many
straggling branches and long gray needles,
casting but little shade. In general appearance
this tree looks more like a palm than a pine.
The cones are about six or seven inches long,

[ 15 1

My First Summer

about five in diameter, very heavy, and last
long after they fall, so that the ground be-
neath the trees is covered with them. They
make fine resiny, light-giving camp-fires,
next to ears of Indian corn the most beau-
tiful fuel I 've ever seen. The nuts, the Don
tells me, are gathered in large quantities
by the Digger Indians for food. They are
about as large and hard-shelled as hazel-
nuts, food and fire fit for the gods from
the same fruit.

"June 5 . This morning a few hours after
setting out with the crawling sheep-cloud,
we gained the summit of the first well-defined
bench on the mountain-flank at Pino Blanco.
The Sabine pines interest me greatly. They
are so airy and strangely palm-like I was
eager to sketch them, and was in a fever of
excitement without accomplishing much.
I managed to halt long enough, however, to
make a tolerably fair sketch of Pino Blanco
peak from the southwest side, where there
is a small field and vineyard irrigated by a

[ 16]

In the Sierra

stream that makes a pretty fall on its way
down a gorge by the roadside.

After gaining the open summit of this first
bench, feeling the natural exhilaration due
to the slight elevation of a thousand feet or
so, and the hopes excited concerning the out-

/'- \l'< 'ft
"

HORSESHOE BEND, MERCED RIVER

look to be obtained, a magnificent section
of the Merced Valley at what is called Horse-
shoe Bend came full in sight, a glorious
wilderness that seemed to be calling with a
thousand songful voices. Bold, down-sweep-
ing slopes, feathered with pines and clumps
of manzanita with sunny, open spaces be-

My First Summer

tween them, make up most of the foreground;
the middle and background present fold
beyond fold of finely modeled hills and
ridges rising into mountain-like masses in
the distance, all covered with a shaggy growth
of chaparral, mostly adenostoma, planted so
marvelously close and even that it looks
like soft, rich plush without a single tree or
bare spot. As far as the eye can reach it
extends, a heaving, swelling sea of green as
regular and continuous as that produced by
the heaths of Scotland. The sculpture of the
landscape is as striking in its main lines as
in its lavish richness of detail; a grand con-
gregation of massive heights with the river
shining between, each carved into smooth,
graceful folds without leaving a single rocky
angle exposed, as if the delicate fluting and
ridging fashioned out of metamorphic slates
had been carefully sandpapered. The whole
landscape showed design, like man's noblest
sculptures. How wonderful the power of its
beauty! Gazing awe-stricken, I might have left

[ 18 ]

In the Sierra

everything for it. Glad, endless work would
then be mine tracing the forces that have
brought forth its features, its rocks and plants
and animals and glorious weather. Beauty
beyond thought everywhere, beneath, above,
made and being made forever. I gazed and
gazed and longed and admired until the dusty
sheep and packs were far out of sight, made
hurried notes and a sketch, though there was
no need of either, for the colors and lines
and expression of this divine landscape-coun-
tenance are so burned into mind and heart
they surely can never grow dim.

The evening of this charmed day is cool,
calm, cloudless, and full of a kind of light-
ning I have never seen before white glow-
ing cloud-shaped masses down among the
trees and bushes, like quick-throbbing fire-
flies in the Wisconsin meadows rather than
the so-called " wild fire." The spreading hairs
of the horses' tails and sparks from our blan-
kets show how highly charged the air is.

June 6. We are now on what may be

[19]

My First Summer

called the second bench or plateau of the
Range, after making many small ups and
downs over belts of hill-waves, with, of course,
corresponding changes in the vegetation. In
open spots many of the lowland composite
are still to be found, and some of the Mariposa
tulips and other conspicuous members of the
lily family; but the characteristic blue oak
of the foothills is left below, and its place is
taken by a fine large species (Quercus Call-
fornica) with deeply lobed deciduous leaves,
picturesquely divided trunk, and broad, massy,
finely lobed and modeled head. Here also at
a height of about twenty-five hundred feet
we come to the edge of the great coniferous
forest, made up mostly of yellow pine with
just a few sugar pines. We are now in the
mountains and they are in us, kindling en-
thusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling
every pore and cell of us. Our flesh-and-bone
tabernacle seems transparent as glass to the
beauty about us, as if truly an inseparable part
of it, thrilling with the air and trees, streams

[20]

In the Sierra

and rocks, in the waves of the sun, - -a part
of all nature, neither old nor young, sick nor
well, but immortal. Just now I can hardly
conceive of any bodily condition dependent
on food or breath any more than the ground

n a

ON SECOND BENCH. EDGE OF THE MAIN FOREST BELT,
ABOVE COULTERVILLE, NEAR GREELEY'S MILL

or the sky. How glorious a conversion, so
complete and wholesome it is, scarce mem-
ory enough of old bondage days left as a
standpoint to view it from ! In this newness
of life we seem to have been so always.

[ 21 ]

My First Summer

Through a meadow opening in the pine
woods I see snowy peaks about the head-
waters of the Merced above Yosemite. How
near they seem and how clear their outlines
on the blue air, or rather in the blue air; for
they seem to be saturated with it. How con-
suming strong the invitation they extend!
Shall I be allowed to go to them ? Night and
day I '11 pray that I may, but it seems too
good to be true. Some one worthy will go,
able for the Godful work, yet as far as I
can I must drift about these love-monument
mountains, glad to be a servant of servants
in so holy a wilderness.

Found a lovely lily (Calochortus albus} in
a shady adenostoma thicket near Coulter-
ville, in company with Adlantum Cbilense.
It is white with a faint purplish tinge in-
side at the base of the petals, a most im-
pressive plant, pure as a snow crystal, one of
the plant saints that all must love and be
made so much the purer by it every time
it is seen. It puts the roughest mountaineer

[ 22 ]

White Mariposa Tulip (Calorchortus albus)

In the Sierra

on his good behavior. With this plant the
whole world would seem rich though none
other existed. It is not easy to keep on with
the camp cloud while such plant people are
standing preaching by the wayside.

During the afternoon we passed a fine
meadow bounded by stately pines, mostly the
arrowy yellow pine, with here and there a
noble sugar pine, its feathery arms outspread
above the spires of its companion species in
marked contrast ; a glorious tree, its cones
fifteen to twenty inches long, swinging like
tassels at the ends of the branches with su-
perb ornamental effect. Saw some logs of
this species at the Greeley Mill. They are
round and regular as if turned in a lathe,
excepting the butt cuts, which have a few
buttressing projections. The fragrance of
the sugary sap is delicious and scents the
mill and lumber yard. How beautiful the
ground beneath this pine thickly strewn with
slender needles and grand cones, and the
piles of cone-scales, seed-wings and shells

[ 23 ]

My First Summer

around the instep of each tree where the
squirrels have been feasting ! They get the
seeds by cutting off the scales at the base in
regular order, following their spiral arrange-
ment, and the two seeds at the base of each
scale, a hundred or two in a cone, must
make a good meal. The yellow pine cones
and those of most other species and genera
are held upside down on the ground by the
Douglas squirrel, and turned around gradu-
ally until stripped, while he sits usually
with his back to a tree, probably for safety.
Strange to say, he never seems to get him-
self smeared with gum, not even his paws
or whiskers, and how cleanly and beauti-
ful in color the cone-litter kitchen-middens
he makes.

We are now approaching the region of
clouds and cool streams. Magnificent white
cumuli appeared about noon above the Yo-
semite region, floating fountains refresh-
ing the glorious wilderness, sky moun-
tains in whose pearly hills and dales the

[24]

In the Sierra

streams take their rise, blessing with cool-
ing shadows and rain. No rock landscape
is more varied in sculpture, none more
delicately modeled than these landscapes of
the sky ; domes and peaks rising, swelling,
white as finest marble and firmly outlined,
a most impressive manifestation of world
building. Every rain-cloud, however fleet-
ing, leaves its mark, not only on trees and
flowers whose pulses are quickened, and on
the replenished streams and lakes, but also
on the rocks are its marks engraved whether
we can see them or not.

I have been examining the curious and
influential shrub Adenostoma fasciculata, first
noticed about Horseshoe Bend. It is very
abundant on the lower slopes of the second
plateau near Coulterville, forming a dense,
almost impenetrable growth that looks dark
in the distance. It belongs to the rose fam-
ily, is about six or eight feet high, has small
white flowers in racemes eight to twelve
inches long, round needle-like leaves, and

[25 ]

My First Summer

reddish bark that becomes shreddy when old.
It grows on sun-beaten slopes, and like grass
is often swept away by running fires, but is
quickly renewed from the roots. Any trees
that may have established themselves in its
midst are at length killed by these fires, and
this no doubt is the secret of the unbroken
character of its broad belts. A few man-
zanitas, which also rise again from the root
after consuming fires, make out to dwell
with it, also a few bush composite,
baccharis and linosyris, and some liliaceous
plants, mostly calochortus and brodiaea, with
deepset bulbs safe from fire. A multitude of
birds and " wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous
beasties' find good homes in its deepest
thickets, and the open bays and lanes that
fringe the margins of its main belts offer
shelter and food to the deer when winter
storms drive them down from their high
mountain pastures. A most admirable plant !
It is now in bloom, and I like to wear its
pretty fragrant racemes in my buttonhole.

[ 26]

In the Sierra

Azalea occidentalis, another charming
shrub, grows beside cool streams hereabouts
and much higher in the Yosemite region.
We found it this evening in bloom a few
miles above Greeley's Mill, where we are
camped for the night. It is closely related
to the rhododendrons, is very showy and fra-
grant, and everybody must like it not only
for itself but for the shady alders and wil-
lows, ferny meadows, and living water asso-
ciated with it.

Another conifer was met to-day, in-
cense cedar (Libocedrus decurrens} 9 a large
tree with warm yellow-green foliage in flat
plumes like those of arborvitas, bark cinna-
mon-colored, and as the boles of the old
trees are without limbs they make striking
pillars in the woods where the sun chances
to shine on them, a worthy companion
of the kingly sugar and yellow pines. I feel
strangely attracted to this tree. The brown
close-grained wood, as well as the small
scale-like leaves, is fragrant, and the flat over-

[ 27 ]

My First Summer

lapping plumes make fine beds, and must
shed the rain well. It would be delightful
to be storm-bound beneath one of these
noble, hospitable, inviting old trees, its broad
sheltering arms bent down like a tent, in-
cense rising from the fire made from its dry
fallen branches, and a hearty wind chanting
overhead. But the weather is calm to-night,
and our camp is only a sheep camp. We are
near the North Fork of the Merced. The
night wind is telling the wonders of the
upper mountains, their snow fountains and
gardens, forests and groves; even their to-
pography is in its tones. And the stars, the
everlasting sky lilies, how bright they are
now that we have climbed above the low-
land dust ! The horizon is bounded and
adorned by a spiry wall of pines, every tree
harmoniously related to every other; defi-
nite symbols, divine hieroglyphics written
with sunbeams. Would I could understand
them ! The stream flowing past the camp
through ferns and lilies and alders makes

[ 28 ]

In the Sierra

sweet music to the ear, but the pines mar-
shaled around the edge of the sky make a
yet sweeter music to the eye. Divine beauty
all. Here I could stay tethered forever with
just bread and water, nor would I be lonely ;
loved friends and neighbors, as love for every-
thing increased, would seem all the nearer
however many the miles and mountains
between us.

"June 7. The sheep were sick last night,
and many of them are still far from well,
hardly able to leave camp, coughing, groan-
ing, looking wretched and pitiful, all from
eating the leaves of the blessed azalea. So
at least say the shepherd and the Don.
Having had but little grass since they left
the plains, they are starving, and so eat any-
thing green they can get. "Sheepmen" call
azalea " sheep-poison," and wonder what
the Creator was thinking about when he
made it, so desperately does sheep busi-
ness blind and degrade, though supposed to
have a refining influence in the good old

[ 29]

My First Summer

days we read of. The California sheep-
owner is in haste to get rich, and often does,
now that pasturage costs nothing, while the
climate is so favorable that no winter food
supply, shelter-pens, or barns are required.
Therefore large flocks may be kept at slight
expense, and large profits realized, the money
invested doubling, it is claimed, every other
year. This quickly acquired wealth usually
creates desire for more. Then indeed the
wool is drawn close down over the poor
fellow's eyes, dimming or shutting out al-
most everything worth seeing.

As for the shepherd, his case is still worse,
especially in winter when he lives alone in
a cabin. For, though stimulated at times by
hopes of one day owning a flock and getting
rich like his boss, he at the same time is
likely to be degraded by the life he leads, and
seldom reaches the dignity or advantage
or disadvantage of ownership. The degra-
dation in his case has for cause one not far
to seek. He is solitary most of the year, and

[ 30 ]

In the Sierra

solitude to most people seems hard to bear.
He seldom has much good mental work or
recreation in the way of books. Coming
into his dingy hovel-cabin at night, stupidly
weary, he finds nothing to balance and level
his life with the universe. No, after his dull
drag all day after the sheep, he must get his
supper; he is likely to slight this task and
try to satisfy his hunger with whatever
comes handy. Perhaps no bread is baked;
then he just makes a few grimy flapjacks in
his unwashed frying-pan, boils a handful of
tea, and perhaps fries a few strips of rusty
bacon. Usually there are dried peaches or
apples in the cabin, but he hates to be both-
ered with the cooking of them, just swal-
lows the bacon and flapjacks, and depends
on the genial stupefaction of tobacco for the
rest. Then to bed, often without removing
the clothing worn during the day. Of course
his health suffers, reacting on his mind ; and
seeing nobody for weeks or months, he
finally becomes semi-insane or wholly so.

My First Summer

The shepherd in Scotland seldom thinks
of being anything but a shepherd. He has
probably descended from a race of shep-
herds and inherited a love and aptitude for
the business almost as marked as that of his
collie. He has but a small flock to look
after, sees his family and neighbors, has
time for reading in fine weather, and often
carries books to the fields with which he
may converse with kings. The oriental
shepherd, we read, called his sheep by
name; they knew his voice and followed
him. The flocks must have been small and
easily managed, allowing piping on the
hills and ample leisure for reading and
thinking. But whatever the blessings of
sheep-culture in other times and countries,
the California shepherd, as far as I 've seen
or heard, is never quite sane for any con-
siderable time. Of all Nature's voices baa
is about all he hears. Even the howls and
ki-yis of coyotes might be blessings if well
heard, but he hears them only through a

[ 32 ]

In the Sierra

blur of mutton and wool, and they do him
no good.

The sick sheep are getting well, and the
shepherd is discoursing on the various poi-
sons lurking in these high pastures - - azalea,
kalmia, alkali. After crossing the North
Fork of the Merced we turned to the left
toward Pilot Peak, and made a considerable
ascent on a rocky, brush-covered ridge to
Brown's Flat, where for the first time since
leaving the plains the flock is enjoying plenty
of green grass. Mr. Delaney intends to seek
a permanent camp somewhere in the neigh-
borhood, to last several weeks.

Before noon we passed Bower Cave, a
delightful marble palace, not dark and drip-
ping, but filled with sunshine, which pours
into it through its wide-open mouth facing
the south. It has a fine, deep, clear little lake
with mossy banks embowered with broad-
leaved maples, all under ground, wholly
unlike anything I have seen in the cave
line even in Kentucky, where a large part

[ 33 ]

My First Summer

of the state is honeycombed with caves.
This curious specimen of subterranean scen-
ery is located on a belt of marble that is
said to extend from the north end of the
Range to the extreme south. Many other
caves occur on the belt, but none like this,
as far as I have learned, combining as it does
sunny outdoor brightness and vegetation with
the crystalline beauty of the under-world.
It is claimed by a Frenchman, who has
fenced and locked it, placed a boat on the
lakelet and seats on the mossy bank under
the maple trees, and charges a dollar admis-
sion fee. Being on one of the ways to the
Yosemite Valley, a good many tourists visit
it during the travel months of summer, re-
garding it as an interesting addition to their
Yosemite wonders.

Poison oak or poison ivy ( Rbus diversiloba),
both as a bush and a scrambler up trees and
rocks, is common throughout the foothill re-
gion up to a height of at least three thousand
feet above the sea. It is somewhat trouble-

[ 34]

In the Sierra

some to most travelers, inflaming the skin
and eyes, but blends harmoniously with its
companion plants, and many a charming
flower leans confidingly upon it for protec-
tion and shade. I have oftentimes found the
curious twining lily (Stropholirion Californi-
cum} climbing its branches, showing no fear
but rather congenial companionship. Sheep
eat it without apparent ill effects ; so do
horses to some extent, though not fond of
it, and to many persons it is harmless. Like
most other things not apparently useful to
man, it has few friends, and the blind ques-
tion, "Why was it made?' goes on and on
with never a guess that first of all it might
have been made for itself.

Brown's Flat is a shallow fertile valley on
the top of the divide between the North Fork
of the Merced and Bull Creek, commanding
magnificent views in every direction. Here
the adventurous pioneer David Brown made
his headquarters for many years, dividing his
time between gold-hunting and bear-hunt-

[ 35 ]

My First Summer

ing. Where could lonely hunter find a better
solitude ? Game in the woods, gold in the
rocks, health and exhilaration in the air,
while the colors and cloud furniture of the
sky are ever inspiring through all sorts of
weather. Though sternly practical, like most
pioneers, old David seems to have been un-
commonly fond of scenery. Mr. Delaney,
who knew him well, tells me that he dearly
loved to climb to the summit of a command-
ing ridge to gaze abroad over the forest to the
snow-clad peaks and sources of the rivers, and
over the foreground valleys and gulches to
note where miners were at work or claims
were abandoned, judging by smoke from
cabins and camp-fires, the sounds of axes,
etc. ; and when a rifle-shot was heard, to guess
who was the hunter, whether Indian or some
poacher on his wide domain. His dog Sandy
accompanied him everywhere, and well the
little hairy mountaineer knew and loved his
master and his master's aims. In deer-hunt-
ing he had but little to do, trotting behind

36

In the Sierra

his master as he slowly made his way through
the wood, careful not to step heavily on dry
twigs, scanning open spots in the chaparral,
where the game loves to feed in the early
morning and towards sunset ; peering cau-
tiously over ridges as new outlooks were
reached, and along the meadowy borders of
streams. But when bears were hunted, little
Sandy became more important, and it was as
a bear-hunter that Brown became famous.
His hunting method, as described by Mr.
Delaney, who had passed many a night with
him in his lonely cabin and learned his
stories, was simply to go slowly and silently
through the best bear pastures, with his dog
and rifle and a few pounds of flour, until he
found a fresh track and then follow it to the
death, paying no heed to the time required.
Wherever the bear went he followed, led by
little Sandy, who had a keen nose and never
lost the track, however rocky the ground.
When high open points were reached, the
likeliest places were carefully scanned. The

[ 37]

My First Summer

time of year enabled the hunter to determine
approximately where the bear would be
found, in the spring and early summer on
open spots about the banks of streams and
springy places eating grass and clover and
lupines, or in dry meadows feasting on straw-
berries ; toward the end of summer, on dry
ridges, feasting on manzanita berries, sitting
on his haunches, pulling down the laden
branches with his paws, and pressing them
together so as to get good compact mouth-
fuls however much mixed with twigs and
leaves; in the Indian summer, beneath the
pines, chewing the cones cut off by the squir-
rels, or occasionally climbing a tree to gnaw
and break off the fruitful branches. In late
autumn, when acorns are ripe, Bruin's favor-
ite feeding-grounds are groves of the Cali-
fornia oak in park-like canon flats. Always
the cunning hunter knew where to look, and
seldom came upon Bruin unawares. When
the hot scent showed the dangerous game
was nigh, a long halt was made, and the in-

[ 38 ]

In the Sierra

tricacies of the topography and vegetation
leisurely scanned to catch a glimpse of the
shaggy wanderer, or to at least determine
where he was most likely to be.

"Whenever/" said the hunter, "I saw a
bear before it saw me I had no trouble in
killing it. I just studied the lay of the land
and got to leeward of it no matter how far
around I had to go, and then worked up to
within a few hundred yards or so, at the foot
of a tree that I could easily climb, but too
small for the bear to climb. Then I looked
well to the condition of my rifle, took off
my boots so as to climb well if necessary,
and waited until the bear turned its side in
clear view when I could make a sure or at
least a good shot. In case it showed fight I
climbed out of reach. But bears are slow
and awkward with their eyes, and being to
leeward of them they could not scent me,
and I often got in a second shot before they
noticed the smoke. Usually, however, they
run when wounded and hide in the brush.

[39]

My First Summer

i

I let them run a good safe time before I
ventured to follow them, and Sandy was
pretty sure tofind them dead. If not,he barked
and drew their attention, and occasionally
rushed in for a distracting bite, so that I
was able to get to a safe distance for a final
shot. Oh yes, bear-hunting is safe enough
when followed in a safe way, though like
every other business it has its accidents, and
little doggie and I have had some close
calls. Bears like to keep out of the way of
men as a general thing, but if an old, lean,
hungry mother with cubs met a man on her
own ground she would, in my opinion, try
to catch and eat him. This would be only
fair play anyhow, for we eat them, but no-
body hereabout has been used for bear grub
that I know of."

Brown had left his mountain home ere
we arrived, but a considerable number of
Digger Indians still linger in their cedar-
bark huts on the edge of the flat. They were
attracted in the first place by the white

[40]

In the Sierra

hunter whom they had learned to respect,
and to whom they looked for guidance and
protection against their enemies the Pah
Utes, who sometimes made raids across from
the east side of the Range to plunder the
stores of the comparatively feeble Diggers
and steal their wives.

j

|, fe \,

t;

!>:!

, i

(

,
f-'- - &- ' .'

CAMP, NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED

8. The sheep, now grassy and
good natured, slowly nibbled their way
down into the valley of the North Fork of
the Merced at the foot of Pilot Peak Ridge
to the place selected by the Don for our
first central camp, a picturesque hopper-

My First Summer

shaped hollow formed by converging hill-
slopes at a bend of the river. Here racks
for dishes and provisions were made in the
shade of the river-bank trees, and beds of
fern fronds, cedar plumes, and various flowers,
each to the taste of its owner, and a corral
back on the open flat for the wool.

yune 9. How deep our sleep last night
in the mountain's heart, beneath the trees
and stars, hushed by solemn-sounding water-
falls and many small soothing voices in
sweet accord whispering peace! And our
first pure mountain day, warm, calm, cloud-
less, how immeasurable it seems, how
serenely wild ! I can scarcely remember its
beginning. Along the river, over the hills,
in the ground, in the sky, spring work is
going on with joyful enthusiasm, new life,
new beauty, unfolding, unrolling in glori-
ous exuberant extravagance, new birds in
their nests, new winged creatures in the
air, and new leaves, new flowers, spreading,
shining, rejoicing everywhere.

[42']

In the Sierra

The trees about the camp stand close, giv-
ing ample shade for ferns and lilies, while
back from the bank most of the sunshine
reaches the ground, calling up the grasses
and flowers in glorious array, tall bromus
waving like bamboos, starry composite,
monardella, Mariposa tulips, lupines, gilias,
violets, glad children of light. Soon every
fern frond will be unrolled, great beds of
common pteris and woodwardia along the
river, wreaths and rosettes of pellasa and
cheilanthes on sunny rocks. Some of the
woodwardia fronds are already six feet
high.

A handsome little shrub, Chamcebatia fo-
liolosa, belonging to the rose family, spreads
a yellow-green mantle beneath the sugar
pines for miles without a break, not mixed
or roughened with other plants. Only here
and there a Washington lily may be seen
nodding above its even surface, or a bunch
or two of tall bromus as if for ornament.
This fine carpet shrub begins to appear at,

[43 ]

My First Summer

say, twenty-five hundred or three thousand
feet above sea level, is about knee high or
less, has brown branches, and the largest
stems are only about half an inch in dia-
meter. The leaves, light yellow green,
thrice pinnate and finely cut, give them a
rich ferny appearance, and they are dotted
with minute glands that secrete wax with
a peculiar pleasant odor that blends finely
with the spicy fragrance of the pines. The
flowers are white, five eighths of an inch
in diameter, and look like those of the
strawberry. Am delighted with this little
bush. It is the only true carpet shrub of
this part of the Sierra. The manzanita,
rhamnus, and most of the species of ceano-
thus make shaggy rugs and border fringes
rather than carpets or mantles.

The sheep do not take kindly to their
new pastures, perhaps from being too closely
hemmed in by the hills. They are never
fully at rest. Last night they were fright-
ened, probably by bears or coyotes prowling

[ 44 ]

In the Sierra

and planning for a share of the grand mass
of mutton.

June 10. Very warm. We get water
for the camp from a rock basin at the foot
of a picturesque cascading reach of the river
where it is well stirred and made lively
without being beaten into dusty foam. The
rock here is black metamorphic slate, worn
into smooth knobs in the stream channels,
contrasting with the fine gray and white
cascading water as it glides and glances and
falls in lace-like sheets and braided over-
folding' currents. Tufts of sedge growing
on the rock knobs that rise above the sur-
face produce a charming effect, the long
elastic leaves arching over in every direc-
tion, the tips of the longest drooping into
the current, which dividing against the pro-
jecting rocks makes still finer lines, uniting
with the sedges to see how beautiful the
happy stream can be made. Nor is this all,
for the giant saxifrage also is growing on
some of the knob rock islets, firmly an-

[45 ]

My First Summer

chored and displaying their broad round
umbrella-like leaves in showy groups by
themselves, or above the sedge tufts. The
flowers of this species (Saxifraga peltata)
are purple, and form tall glandular racemes
that are in bloom before the appearance of
the leaves. The fleshy root-stocks grip the
rock in cracks and hollows, and thus enable
the plant to hold on against occasional
floods,- -a marked species employed by Na-
ture to make yet more beautiful the most
interesting portions of these cool clear
streams. Near camp the trees arch over
from bank to bank, making a leafy tunnel
full of soft subdued light, through which
the young river sings and shines like a happy
living creature.

Heard a few peals of thunder from the
upper Sierra, and saw firm white bossy cu-
muli rising back of the pines. This was
about noon.

June ii. On one of the eastern branches
of the river discovered some charming cas-

[46]

A Forest Brook

\

I

In the Sierra

cades with a pool at the foot of each of them.
White dashing water, a few bushes and tufts
of carex on ledges leaning over with fine
effect, and large orange lilies assembled in
superb groups on fertile soil-beds beside the
pools.

There are no large meadows or grassy
plains near camp to supply lasting pasture for
our thousands of busy nibblers. The main
dependence is ceanothus brush on the hills
and tufted grass patches here and there, with
lupines and pea-vines among the flowers on
sunny open spaces. Large areas have already
been stripped bare, or nearly so, compelling
the poor hungry wool bundles to scatter far
and wide, keeping the shepherds and dogs
at the top of their speed to hold them within
bounds. Mr. Delaney has gone back to the
plains, taking the Indian and Chinaman with
him, leaving instruction to keep the flock
here or hereabouts until his return, which
he promised would not be long delayed.

How fine the weather is ! Nothing more

[47 ]

My First Summer

celestial can I conceive. How gently the
winds blow! Scarce can these tranquil air-
currents be called winds. They seem the very
breath of Nature, whispering peace to every
living thing. Down in the camp dell there
is no swaying of tree-tops ; most of the time
not a leaf moves. I don't remember having
seen a single lily swinging on its stalk, though
they are so tall the least breeze would rock
them. What grand bells these lilies have!
Some of them big enough for children's bon-
nets. I have been sketching them, and would
fain draw every leaf of their wide shining
whorls and every curved and spotted petal.
More beautiful, better kept gardens cannot
be imagined. The species is Lilium parda-
linum, five to six feet high, leaf-whorls a foot
wide, flowers about six inches wide, bright
orange, purple spotted in the throat, seg-
ments revolute a majestic plant.

yune 12. A slight sprinkle of rain,-
large drops far apart, falling with hearty pat
and plash on leaves and stones and into the

[ 48 ]

In the Sierra

mouths of the flowers. Cumuli rising to the
eastward. How beautiful their pearly bosses !
How well they harmonize with the upswell-
ing rocks beneath them. Mountains of the
sky, solid-looking, finely sculptured, their
richly varied topography wonderfully de-
fined. Never before have I seen clouds so
substantial looking in form and texture.
Nearly every day toward noon they rise with
visible swelling motion as if new worlds
were being created. And how fondly they
brood and hover over the gardens and for-
ests with their cooling shadows and show-
ers, keeping every petal and leaf in glad
health and heart. One may fancy the clouds
themselves are plants, springing up in the
sky-fields at the call of the sun, growing in
beauty until they reach their prime, scat-
tering rain and hail like berries and seeds,
then wilting and dying.

The mountain live oak, common here and
a thousand feet or so higher, is like the live oak
of Florida, not only in general appearance,

[49]

My First Summer

foliage, bark, and wide -branching habit,
but in its tough, knotty, unwedgeable wood.
Standing alone with plenty of elbow room,
the largest trees are about seven to eight feet
in diameter near the ground, sixty feet high,

, ' '<*fe**"

.. . *"

8t!Jw - . "i? . v.

1 *' !
'

'V **>- ..v

, **.

--

r \ - PX .

' v ,' "

x ' .. * <~

yfcft; iff&'jfy

MOUNTAIN LIVE OAK (Quercus cArysolepis) , EIGHT FEET IN

DIAMETER

and as wide or wider across the head. The
leaves are small and undivided, mostly with-
out teeth or wavy edging, though on young
shoots some are sharply serrated, both kinds
being found on the same tree. The cups of

[ 50 ]

In the Sierra

the medium-sized acorns are shallow, thick
walled, and covered with a golden dust of
minute hairs. Some of the trees have hardly
any main trunk, dividing near the ground
into large wide-spreading limbs, and these,
dividing again and again, terminate in long,
drooping, cord-like branchlets, many of
which reach nearly to the ground, while a
dense canopy of short, shining leafy branch-
lets forms a round head which looks some-
thing like a cumulus cloud when the sun-
shine is pouring over it.

A marked plant is the bush poppy (Den-
drome con rigidum), found on the hot hillsides
near camp, the only woody member of the
order I have yet met in all my walks. Its
flowers are bright orange yellow, an inch to
two inches wide, fruit-pods three or four
inches long, slender and curving, height
of bushes about four feet, made up of many
slim, straight branches, radiating from the
root, a companion of the manzanita and
other sun-loving chaparral shrubs.

My First Summer

"June 13.- -Another glorious Sierra day
in which one seems to be dissolved and ab-
sorbed and sent pulsing onward we know not
where. Life seems neither long nor short,
and we take no more heed to save time or
make haste than do the trees and stars. This
is true freedom, a good practical sort of im-
mortality. Yonder rises another white sky-
land. How sharply the yellow pine spires
and the palm-like crowns of the sugar pines
are outlined on its smooth white domes. And
hark! the grand thunder billows booming,
rolling from ridge to ridge, followed by the
faithful shower.

A good many herbaceous plants come thus
far up the mountains from the plains, and are
now in flower, two months later than their
lowland relatives. Saw a few columbines to-
day. Most of the ferns are in their prime, -
rock ferns on the sunny hillsides, cheilanthes,
pellaea, gymnogramme; woodwardia, aspi-
dium, woodsia along the stream banks, and
the common Pteris aquilina on sandy flats,

[ 52 ]

In the Sierra

This last, however common, is here making
shows of strong, exuberant, abounding beauty
to set the botanist wild with admiration. I
measured some scarce full grown that are
more than seven feet high. Though the
commonest and most widely distributed of
all the ferns, I might almost say that I never
saw it before. The broad-shouldered fronds
held high on smooth stout stalks growing
close together, overleaning and overlapping,
make a complete ceiling, beneath which one
may walk erect over several acres without
being seen, as if beneath a roof. And how
soft and lovely the light streaming through
this living ceiling, revealing the arching
branching ribs and veins of the fronds as the
framework of countless panes of pale green
and yellow plant-glass nicely fitted together
a fairyland created out of the commonest
fern-stuff.

The smaller animals wander about as if
in a tropical forest. I saw the entire flock
of sheep vanish at one side of a patch and

[ 53 ]

My First Summer

reappear a hundred yards farther on at the
other, their progress betrayed only by the
jerking and trembling of the fronds ; and
strange to say very few of the stout woody
stalks were broken. I sat a long time be-
neath the tallest fronds, and never enjoyed any-
thing in the way of a bower of wild leaves
more strangely impressive. Only spread a
fern frond over a man's head and worldly
cares are cast out, and freedom and beauty
and peace come in. The waving of a pine
tree on the top of a mountain,- -a magic
wand in Nature's hand, every devout moun-
taineer knows its power ; but the marvel-
ous beauty value of what the Scotch call a
breckan in a still dell, what poet has sung
this ? It would seem impossible that any one,
however incrusted with care, could escape the
Godful influence of these sacred fern forests.
Yet this very day I saw a shepherd pass
through one of the finest of them without
betraying more feeling than his sheep.
44 What do you think of these grand ferns?'

[ 54 ]

In the Sierra

I asked. " Oh, they 're only d d big
brakes," he replied.

Lizards of every temper, style, and color
dwell here, seemingly as happy and com-
panionable as the birds and squirrels. Lowly,
gentle fellow mortals, enjoying God's sun-
shine, and doing the best they can in get-
ting a living, I like to watch them at their
work and play. They bear acquaintance
well, and one likes them the better the
longer one looks into their beautiful, inno-
cent eyes. They are easily tamed, and one
soon learns to love them, as they dart about
on the hot rocks, swift as dragon-flies. The
eye can hardly follow them; but they
never make long-sustained runs, usually only
about ten or twelve feet, then a sudden stop,
and as sudden a start again; going all their
journeys by quick, jerking impulses. These
many stops I find are necessary as rests, for
they are short-winded, and when pursued
steadily are soon out of breath, pant piti-
fully, and are easily caught. Their bodies

[55]

My First Summer

are more than half tail, but these tails are
well managed, never heavily dragged nor
curved up as if hard to carry; on the con-
trary, they seem to follow the body lightly
of their own will. Some are colored like
the sky, bright as bluebirds, others gray
like the lichened rocks on which they hunt
and bask. Even the horned toad of the
plains is a mild, harmless creature, and so
are the snake-like species which glide in
curves with true snake motion, while their
small, undeveloped limbs drag as useless
appendages. One specimen fourteen inches
long which I observed closely made no
use whatever of its tender, sprouting limbs,
but glided with all the soft, sly ease and
grace of a snake. Here comes a little, gray,
dusty fellow who seems to know and trust
me, running about my feet, and looking
up cunningly into my face. Carlo is watch-
ing, makes a quick pounce on him, for the
fun of the thing I suppose; but Liz has shot
away from his paws like an arrow, and is

[ 56]

In the Sierra

safe in the recesses of a clump of chaparral.
Gentle saurians, dragons, descendants of an
ancient and mighty race, Heaven bless you
all and make your virtues known ! for few
of us know as yet that scales may cover
fellow creatures as gentle and lovable as
feathers, or hair, or cloth.

Mastodons and elephants used to live here
no great geological time ago, as shown by
their bones, often discovered by miners in
washing gold-gravel. And bears of at least
two species are here now, besides the Cali-
fornia lion or panther, and wild cats, wolves,
foxes, snakes, scorpions, wasps, tarantulas;
but one is almost tempted at times to regard
a small savage black ant as the master ex-
istence of this vast mountain world. These
fearless, restless, wandering imps, though
only about a quarter of an inch long, are
fonder of fighting and biting than any beast
I know. They attack every living thing
around their homes, often without cause as
far as I can see. Their bodies are mostly

[ 57]

My First Summer

jaws curved like ice-hooks, and to get work
for these weapons seems to be their chief
aim and pleasure. Most of their colonies
are established in living oaks somewhat
decayed or hollowed, in which they can
conveniently build their cells. These are
chosen probably because of their strength
as opposed to the attacks of animals and
storms. They work both day and night,
creep into dark caves, climb the highest
trees, wander and hunt through cool ravines
as well as on hot, unshaded ridges, and ex-
tend their highways and byways over every-
thing but water and sky. From the foot-
hills to a mile above the level of the sea
nothing can stir without their knowledge;
and alarms are spread in an incredibly short
time, without any howl or cry that we can
hear. I can't understand the need of their
ferocious courage; there seems to be no
common sense in it. Sometimes, no doubt,
they fight in defense of their homes, but
they fight anywhere and always wherever

[58]

In the Sierra

they can find anything to bite. As soon as
a vulnerable spot is discovered on man or
beast, they stand on their heads and sink
their jaws, and though torn limb from limb,
they will yet hold on and die biting deeper.
When I contemplate this fierce creature so
widely distributed and strongly intrenched,
I see that much remains to be done ere the
world is brought under the rule of univer-
sal peace and love.

On my way to camp a few minutes ago,
I passed a dead pine nearly ten feet in dia-
meter. It has been enveloped in fire from
top to bottom so that now it looks like a
grand black pillar set up as a monument.
In this noble shaft a colony of large jet-
black ants have established themselves, la-
boriously cutting tunnels and cells through
the wood, whether sound or decayed. The
entire trunk seems to have been honey-
combed, judging by the size of the talus of
gnawed chips like sawdust piled up around
its base. They are more intelligent looking

[ 59]

My First Summer

than their small, belligerent, strong-scented
brethren, and have better manners, though
quick to fight when required. Their towns
are carved in fallen trunks as well as in
those left standing, but never in sound, liv-
ing trees or in the ground. When you
happen to sit down to rest or take notes
near a colony, some wandering hunter is
sure to find you and come cautiously for-
ward to discover the nature of the intruder
and what ought to be done. If you are not
too near the town and keep perfectly still he
may run across your feet a few times, over
your legs and hands and face, up your trou-
sers, as if taking your measure and getting
comprehensive views, then go in peace
without raising an alarm. If, however, a
tempting spot is offered or some suspicious
movement excites him, a bite follows, and
such a bite! I fancy that a bear or wolf
bite is not to be compared with it. A quick
electric flame of pain flashes along the out-
raged nerves, and you discover for the first

[60]

In the Sierra

time how great is the capacity for sensation
you are possessed of. A shriek, a grab for
the animal, and a bewildered stare follow
this bite of bites as one comes back to con-
sciousness from sudden eclipse. Fortunately,
if careful, one need not be bitten oftener
than once or twice in a lifetime. This won-
derful electric species is about three fourths
of an inch long. Bears are fond of them, and
tear and gnaw their home-logs to pieces,
and roughly devour the eggs, larvae, parent
ants, and the rotten or sound wood of the
cells, all in one spicy acid hash. The Digger
Indians also are fond of the larvae and even
of the perfect ants, so I have been told by
old mountaineers. They bite off and reject
the head, and eat the tickly acid body with
keen relish. Thus are the poor biters bitten,
like every other biter, big or little, in the
world's great family.

There is also a fine, active, intelligent-
looking red species, intermediate in size be-
tween the above. They dwell in the ground,

[61 ]

My First Summer

and build large piles of seed husks, leaves,
straw, etc., over their nests. Their food
seems to be mostly insects and plant leaves,
seeds and sap. How many mouths Nature
has to fill, how many neighbors we have,
how little we know about them, and how
seldom we get in each other's way! Then
to think of the infinite numbers of smaller
fellow mortals, invisibly small, compared
with which the smallest ants are as masto-
dons.

"June 14. The pool-basins below the
falls and cascades hereabouts, formed by
the heavy down-plunging currents, are kept
nicely clean and clear of detritus. The heav-
ier parts of the material swept over the falls
are heaped up a short distance in front of the
basins in the form of a dam, thus tending,
together with erosion, to increase their size.
Sudden changes, however, are effected during
the spring floods, when the snow is melting
and the upper tributaries are roaring loud
from "bank to brae." Then boulders that

[ 62 ]

In the Sierra

have fallen into the channels, and which the
ordinary summer and winter currents were
unable to move, are suddenly swept forward
as by a mighty besom, hurled over the falls
into these pools, and piled up in a new dam
together with part of the old one, while some
of the smaller boulders are carried further
down stream and variously lodged according
to size and shape, all seeking rest where the
force of the current is less than the resist-
ance they are able to offer. But the greatest
changes made in these relations of fall, pool,
and dam are caused, not by the ordinary spring
floods, but by extraordinary ones that occur
at irregular intervals. The testimony of trees
growing on flood boulder deposits shows that
a century or more has passed since the last
master flood came to awaken everything
movable to go swirling and dancing on won-
derful journeys. These floods may occur dur-
ing the summer, when heavy thunder-show-
ers, called " cloud-bursts," fall on wide, steeply
inclined stream basins furrowed by converg-

[ 63 ]

My First Summer

ing channels, which suddenly gather the
waters together into the main trunk in
booming torrents of enormous transporting
power, though short lived.

One of these ancient flood boulders stands
firm in the middle of the stream channel,
just below the lower edge of the pool dam
at the foot of the fall nearest our camp. It is
a nearly cubical mass of granite about eight
feet high, plushed with mosses over the top
and down the sides to ordinary high-water
mark. When I climbed on top of it to-day
and lay down to rest, it seemed the most ro-
mantic spot I had yet found, - - the one big
stone with its mossy level top and smooth
sides standing square and firm and solitary,
like an altar, the fall in front of it bathing it
lightly with the finest of the spray, just enough
to keep its moss cover fresh ; the clear green
pool beneath, with its foam-bells and its half
circle of lilies leaning forward like a band of
admirers, and flowering dogwood and alder
trees leaning over all in sun-sifted arches.

[64]

In the Sierra

How soothingly, restfully cool it is beneath
that leafy, translucent ceiling, and how de-
lightful the water music the deep bass
tones of the fall, the clashing, ringing spray,
and infinite variety of small low tones of the
current gliding past the side of the boulder-
island, and glinting against a thousand smaller
stones down the ferny channel ! All this shut
in; every one of these influences acting at
short range as if in a quiet room. The place
seemed holy, where one might hope to see
God.

After dark, when the camp was at rest, I
groped my way back to the altar boulder and
passed the night on it, above the water,
beneath the leaves and stars, - - everything
still more impressive than by day, the fall
seen dimly white, singing Nature's old love
song with solemn enthusiasm, while the
stars peering through the leaf-roof seemed
to join in the white water's song. Precious
night, precious day to abide in me forever.
Thanks be to God for this immortal gift.

[ 65 ]

My First Summer

June 15.- -Another reviving morning.
Down the long mountain-slopes the sun-
beams pour, gilding the awakening pines,
cheering every needle, filling every living
thing with joy. Robins are singing in the
alder and maple groves, the same old song
that has cheered and sweetened countless
seasons over almost all of our blessed con-
tinent. In this mountain hollow he seems
as much at home as in farmers' orchards.
Bullock's oriole and the Louisiana tanager
are here also, with many warblers and other
little mountain troubadours, most of them
now busy about their nests.

Discovered another magnificent specimen
of the goldcup oak six feet in diameter, a
Douglas spruce seven feet, and a twining lily
( Strop holirion}, with stem eight feet long,
and sixty rose-colored flowers.

Sugar pine cones are cylindrical, slightly
tapered at the end and rounded at the base.
Found one to-day nearly twenty-four inches

long and six in diameter, the scales being

[66]

In the Sierra

open. Another specimen nineteen inches
long ; the average length of full-grown

SUGAR PINE

cones on trees favorably situated is nearly
eighteen inches. On the lower edge of the
belt at a height of about twenty-five hun-

[67]

My First Summer

dred feet above the sea they are smaller, say
a foot to fifteen inches long, and at a height
of seven thousand feet or more near the
upper limits of its growth in the Yosemite
region they are about the same size. This
noble tree is an inexhaustible study and
source of pleasure. I never weary of gaz-
ing at its grand tassel cones, its perfectly
round bole one hundred feet or more
without a limb, the fine purplish color of
its bark, and its magnificent outsweeping,
down-curving feathery arms forming a
crown always bold and striking and exhila-
rating. In habit and general port it looks
somewhat like a palm, but no palm that I
have yet seen displays such majesty of form
and behavior either when poised silent and
thoughtful in sunshine, or wide-awake wav-
ing in storm winds with every needle quiv-
ering. When young it is very straight and
regular in form like most other conifers ; but
at the age of fifty to one hundred years it be-
gins to acquire individuality, so that no two

[ 68 ]

A Sugar Pine (on the left]

In the Sierra

are alike in their prime or old age. Every
tree calls for special admiration. I have
been making many sketches, and regret that
I cannot draw every needle. It is said to reach
a height of three hundred feet, though the
tallest I have measured falls short of this
stature sixty feet or more. The diameter of
the largest near the ground is about ten feet,
though I 've heard of some twelve feet thick
or even fifteen. The diameter is held to a
great height, the taper being almost imper-
ceptibly gradual. Its companion, the yellow
pine, is almost as large. The long silvery
foliage of the younger specimens forms mag-
nificent cylindrical brushes on the top shoots
and the ends of the upturned branches, and
when the wind sways the needles all one
way at a certain angle every tree becomes
a tower of white quivering sun-fire. Well
may this shining species be called the silver
pine. The needles are sometimes more than
a foot long, almost as long as those of the
long-leaf pine of Florida. But though in

My First Summer

size the yellow pine almost equals the sugar
pine, and in rugged enduring strength seems
to surpass it, it is far less marked in general
habit and expression, with its regular con-
ventional spire and its comparatively small
cones clustered stiffly among the needles.
Were there no sugar pine, then would this
be the king of the world's eighty or ninety
species, the brightest of the bright, waving,
worshiping multitude. Were they mere me-
chanical sculptures, what noble objects they
would still be ! How much more throb-
bing, thrilling, overflowing, full of life in
every fibre and cell, grand glowing silver-
rods the very gods of the plant kingdom,
living their sublime century lives in sight
of Heaven, watched and loved and admired
from generation to generation ! And how
many other radiant resiny sun trees are here
and higher up, libocedrus, Douglas spruce,
silver fir, sequoia. How rich our inheritance
in these blessed mountains, the tree pastures
into which our eyes are turned!

[ 70]

In the Sierra

Now comes sundown. The west is all a
glory of color transfiguring everything. Far
up the Pilot Peak Ridge the radiant host of
trees stand hushed and thoughtful, receiving
the Sun's good-night, as solemn and impres-
sive a leave-taking as if sun and trees were to
meet no more. The daylight fades, the color
spell is broken, and the forest breathes free
in the night breeze beneath the stars.

"June 1 6. One of the Indians from
Brown's Flat got right into the middle of
the camp this morning, unobserved. I was
seated on a stone, looking over my notes and
sketches, and happening to look up, was
startled to see him standing grim and silent
within a few steps of me, as motionless and
weather-stained as an old tree-stump that had
stood there for centuries. All Indians seem
to have learned this wonderful way of walk-
ing unseen, - -making themselves invisible
like certain spiders I have been observing
here, which, in case of alarm, caused, for ex-
ample, by a bird alighting on the bush their

My First Summer

webs are spread upon, immediately bounce
themselves up and down on their elastic
threads so rapidly that only a blur is visible.
The wild Indian power of escaping observa-
tion, even where there is little or no cover
to hide in, was probably slowly acquired in
hard hunting and fighting lessons while try-
ing to approach game, take enemies by sur-
prise, or get safely away when compelled
to retreat. And this experience transmitted
through many generations seems at length to
have become what is vaguely called instinct.
How smooth and changeless seems the
surface of the mountains about us ! Scarce a
track is to be found beyond the range of the
sheep except on small open spots on the sides
of the streams, or where the forest carpets are
thin or wanting. On the smoothest of these
open strips and patches deer tracks may be
seen, and the great suggestive footprints of
bears, which, with those of the many small
animals, are scarce enough to answer as a kind
of light ornamental stitching or embroidery.

[72 1

In the Sierra

Along the main ridges and larger branches of
the river Indian trails may be traced, but they
are not nearly as distinct as one would expect
to find them. How many centuries Indians
have roamed these woods nobody knows,
probably a great many, extending far beyond
the time that Columbus touched our shores,
and it seems strange that heavier marks have
not been made. Indians walk softly and hurt
the landscape hardly more than the birds and
squirrels, and their brush and bark huts last
hardly longer than those of wood rats, while
their more enduring monuments, excepting
those wrought on the forests by the fires they
made to improve their hunting grounds, van-
ish in a few centuries.

How different are most of those of the
white man, especially on the lower gold re-
gion, roads blasted in the solid rock, wild
streams dammed and tamed and turned out
of their channels and led along the sides of
canons and valleys to work in mines like
slaves. Crossing from ridge to ridge, high in
* [ 73 ]

My First Summer

the air, on long straddling trestles as if flow-
ing on stilts, or down and up across valleys
and hills, imprisoned in iron pipes to strike
and wash away hills and miles of the skin
of the mountain's face, riddling, stripping
every gold gully and flat. These are the
white man's marks made in a few feverish
years, to say nothing of mills, fields, villages,
scattered hundreds of miles along the flank
of the Range. Long will it be ere these
marks are effaced, though Nature is doing
what she can, replanting, gardening, sweep-
ing away old dams and flumes, leveling
gravel and boulder piles, patiently trying to
heal every raw scar. The main gold storm is
over. Calm enough are the gray old miners
scratching a bare living in waste diggings
here and there. Thundering underground
blasting is still going on to feed the pound-
ing quartz mills, but their influence on the
landscape is light as compared with that of
the pick-and-shovel storms waged a few
years ago. Fortunately for Sierra scenery the

[ 74 ]

In the Sierra

gold-bearing slates are mostly restricted to
the foothills. The region about our camp
is still wild, and higher lies the snow about
as trackless as the sky.

Only a few hills and domes of cloudland
were built yesterday and none at all to-day.
The light is peculiarly white and thin,
though pleasantly warm. The serenity of
this mountain weather in the spring, just
when Nature's pulses are beating highest,
is one of its greatest charms. There is only
a moderate breeze from the summits of the
Range at night, and a slight breathing from
the sea and the lowland hills and plains
during the day, or stillness so complete no
leaf stirs. The trees hereabouts have but
little wind history to tell.

Sheep, like people, are ungovernable when
hungry. Excepting my guarded lily gardens,
almost every leaf that these hoofed locusts
can reach within a radius of a mile or two
from camp has been devoured. Even the
bushes are stripped bare, and in spite of

t 75 ]

My First Summer

dogs and shepherds the sheep scatter to all
points of the compass and vanish in dust. I
fear some are lost, for one of the sixteen
black ones is missing.

"June 17. Counted the wool bundles
this morning as they bounced through the
narrow corral gate. About three hundred
are missing, and as the shepherd could not
go to seek them, I had to go. I tied a crust
of bread to my belt, and with Carlo set out
for the upper slopes of the Pilot Peak Ridge,
and had a good day, notwithstanding the
care of seeking the silly runaways. I went
out for wool, and did not come back shorn.
A peculiar light circled around the horizon,
white and thin like that often seen over the
auroral corona, blending into the blue of the
upper sky. The only clouds were a few
faint flossy pencilings like combed silk. I

4

pushed direct to the boundary of the usual
range of the flock, and around it until I
found the outgoing trail of the wanderers.
It led far up the ridge into an open place

[ 76 ]

In the Sierra

surrounded by a hedge-like growth of cea-
nothus chaparral. Carlo knew what I was
about, and eagerly followed the scent until
we came up to them, huddled in a timid, si-
lent bunch. They had evidently been here all
night and all the forenoon, afraid to go out
to feed. Having escaped restraint, they were,
like some people we know of, afraid of their
freedom, did not know what to do with it,
and seemed glad to get back into the old
familiar bondage.

June i 8. Another inspiring morning,
nothing better in any world can be con-
ceived. No description of Heaven that I
have ever heard or read of seems half so
fine. At noon the clouds occupied about
.05 of the sky, white filmy touches drawn
delicately on the azure.

The high ridges and hilltops beyond
the woolly locusts are now gay with mon-
ardella, clarkia, coreopsis, and tall tufted
grasses, some of them tall enough to wave
like pines. The lupines, of which there are

[ 77 ]

My First Summer

many ill-defined species, are now mostly out
of flower, and many of the composite are
beginning to fade, their radiant corollas van-
ishing in fluffy pappus like stars in mist.

We had another visitor from Brown's
Flat to-day, an old Indian woman with a
basket on her back. Like our first caller
from the village, she got fairly into camp
and was standing in plain view when dis-
covered. How long she had been quietly
looking on, I cannot say. Even the dogs
failed to notice her stealthy approach. She
was on her way, I suppose, to some wild
garden, probably for lupine and starchy
saxifrage leaves and rootstocks. Her dress
was calico rags, far from clean. In every
way she seemed sadly unlike Nature's neat
well-dressed animals,though living like them
on the bounty of the wilderness. Strange
that mankind alone is dirty. Had she been
clad in fur, or cloth woven of grass or
shreddy bark, like the juniper and liboce-
drus mats, she might then have seemed a

[ 78 ]

In the Sierra

rightful part of the wilderness ; like a good
wolf at least, or bear. But from no point of
view that I have found are such debased
fellow beings a whit more natural than
the glaring tailored tourists we saw that
frightened the birds and squirrels.

"June 19. Pure sunshine all day. How
beautiful a rock is made by leaf shadows!
Those of the live oak are particularly clear
and distinct, and beyond all art in grace and
delicacy, now still as if painted on stone,
now gliding softly as if afraid of noise, now
dancing, waltzing in swift, merry swirls, or
jumping on and off sunny rocks in quick
dashes like wave embroidery on seashore
cliffs. How true and substantial is this shadow
beauty, and with what sublime extravagance
is beauty thus multiplied! The big orange
lilies are now arrayed in all their glory of
leal and flower. Noble plants, in perfect
health, Nature's darlings.

yune 20. Some of the silly sheep got
caught fast in a tangle of chaparral this

[79]

My First Summer

morning, like flies in a spider's web, and had
to be helped out. Carlo found them and tried
to drive them from the trap by the easiest
way. How far above sheep are intelligent
dogs! No friend and helper can be more
affectionate and constant than Carlo. The
noble St. Bernard is an honor to his race.

The air is distinctly fragrant with balsam
and resin and mint, every breath of it a
gift we may well thank God for. Who
could ever guess that so rough a wilderness
should yet be so fine, so full of good things.
One seems to be in a majestic domed pavil-
ion in which a grand play is being acted
with scenery and music and incense, all
the furniture and action so interesting we
are in no danger of being called on to en-
dure one dull moment. God himself seems
to be always doing his best here, working
like a man in a glow of enthusiasm.

Ju?ie 21. Sauntered along the river-bank
to my lily gardens. The perfection of

beauty in these lilies of the wilderness is a

[80]

In the Sierra

never-ending source of admiration and won-
der. Their rhizomes are set in black mould
accumulated in hollows of the metamor-
phic slates beside the pools, where they are
well watered without being subjected to
flood action. Every leaf in the level whorls
around the tall polished stalks is as finely
finished as the petals, and the light and
heat required are measured for them and
tempered in passing through the branches
of over-leaning trees. However strong the
winds from the noon rain-storms, they are
securely sheltered. Beautiful hypnum car-
pets bordered with ferns are spread beneath
them, violets too, and a few daisies. Every-
thing around them sweet and fresh like
themselves.

Cloudland to-day is only a solitary white
mountain ; but it is so enriched with sunshine
and shade, the tones of color on its big domed
head and bossy outbulging ridges, and in the
hollows and ravines between them, are inef-
fably fine.

[ 81 ]

My First Summer

22. Unusually cloudy. Besides
the periodical shower-bearing cumuli there
is a thin diffused fog-like cloud overhead.
About .75 in all.

'June 23.- -Oh, these vast, calm, mea-
sureless mountain days, inciting at once to
work and rest ! Days in whose light every-
thing seems equally divine, opening a thou-
sand windows to show us God. Nevermore,
however weary, should one faint by the way
who gains the blessings of one mountain day ;
whatever his fate, long life, short life, stormy
or calm, he is rich forever.

June 24. Our regular allowance of
clouds and thunder. Shepherd Billy is in a
peck of trouble about the sheep; he declares
that they are possessed with more of the evil
one than any other flock from the beginning
of the invention of mutton and wool to the
last batch of it. No matter how many are
missing, he will not, he says, go a step to seek
them, because, as he reasons, while getting

back one wanderer he would probably lose

[82 ]

In the Sierra

ten. Therefore runaway hunting must be
Carlo's and mine. Billy's little dog Jack is
also giving trouble by leaving camp every
night to visit his neighbors up the mountain
at Brown's Flat. He is a common-looking
cur of no particular breed, but tremendously
enterprising in love and war. He has cut all
the ropes and leather straps he has been tied
with, until his master in desperation, after
climbing the brushy mountain again and
again to drag him back, fastened him with a
pole attached to his collar under his chin at
one end, and to a stout sapling at the other.
But the pole gave good leverage, and by con-
stant twisting during the night, the fastening
at the sapling end was chafed off, and he set
out on his usual journey, dragging the pole
through the brush, and reached the Indian
settlement in safety. His master followed,
and making no allowance, gave him a beat-
ing, and swore in bad terms that next even-
ing he would "fix that infatuated pup" by
anchoring him unmercifully to the heavy

[ 83 ]

My First Summer

cast-iron lid of our Dutch oven, weighing
about as much as the dog. It was linked di-
rectly to his collar close up under the chin,
so that the poor fellow seemed unable to stir.
He stood quite discouraged until after dark,
unable to look about him, or even to lie down
unless he stretched himself out with his front
feet across the lid, and his head close down
between his paws. Before morning, how-
ever, Jack was heard far up the height
howling Excelsior, cast-iron anchor to the
contrary notwithstanding. He must have
walked, or rather climbed, erect on his hind
legs, clasping the heavy lid like a shield
against his breast, a formidable iron-clad
condition in which to meet his rivals. Next
night, dog, pot-lid, and all, were tied up in
an old bean-sack, and thus at last angry Billy
gained the victory. Just before leaving home,
Jack was bitten in the lower jaw by a rattle-
snake, and for a week or so his head and neck
were swollen to more than double the nor-
mal size; nevertheless he ran about as brisk

[ 84 ]

In the Sierra

and lively as ever, and is now completely
recovered. The only treatment he got was
fresh milk, a gallon or two at a time forci-
bly poured down his sore, poisoned throat.

June 25. Though only a sheep camp,
this grand mountain hollow is home, sweet
home, every day growing sweeter, and I
shall be sorry to leave it. The lily gardens
are safe as yet from the trampling flock.
Poor, dusty, raggedy, famishing creatures, I
heartily pity them. Many a mile they must
go every day to gather their fifteen or
twenty tons of chaparral and grass.

June 26. Nuttall's flowering dogwood
makes a fine show when in bloom. The
whole tree is then snowy white. The invo-
lucres are six to eight inches wide. Along
the streams it is a good-sized tree thirty to
fifty feet high, with a broad head when not
crowded by companions. Its showy invo-
lucres attract a crowd of moths, butterflies,
and other winged people about it for their
own and, I suppose, the tree's advantage. It

[ 8$ ]

My First Summer

likes plenty of cool water, and is a great
drinker like the alder, willow, and cotton-
wood, and flourishes best on stream banks,
though it often wanders far from streams in
damp shady glens beneath the pines, where
it is much smaller. When the leaves ripen
in the fall, they become more beautiful
than the flowers, displaying charming tones
of red, purple, and lavender. Another species
grows in abundance as a chaparral shrub
on the shady sides of the hills, probably
Cornus sessilis. The leaves are eaten by the
sheep. Heard a few lightning strokes in
the distance, with rumbling, mumbling re-
verberations.

June 27. The beaked hazel (Cory Ins
rostrata, var. Calif ornica\ is common on cool
slopes up toward the summit of the Pilot
Peak Ridge. There is something peculiarly
attractive in the hazel, like the oaks and
heaths of the cool countries of our fore-
fathers, and through them our love for these
plants has, I suppose, been transmitted. This

[ 86 ]

In the Sierra

species is four or five feet high, leaves soft
and hairy, grateful to the touch, and the de-
licious nuts are eagerly gathered by Indians
and squirrels. The sky as usual adorned
with white noon clouds.

"June 28.- Warm, mellow summer.
The glowing sunbeams make every nerve
tingle. The new needles of the pines and
firs are nearly full grown and shine glori-
ously. Lizards are glinting about on the hot
rocks; some that live near the camp are
more than half tame. They seem attentive to
every movement on our part, as if curious to
simply look on without suspicion of harm,
turning their heads to look back, and making
a variety of pretty gestures. Gentle, guileless
creatures with beautiful eyes, I shall be sorry
to leave them when we leave camp.

"June 29. I have been making the ac-
quaintance of a very interesting little bird
that flits about the falls and rapids of the
main branches of the river. It is not a
water-bird in structure, though it gets its

[ 87 ]

My First Summer

living in the water, and never leaves the
streams. It is not web-footed, yet it dives
fearlessly into deep swirling rapids, evi-
dently to feed at the bottom, using its wings
to swim wdth under water just as ducks and
loons do. Sometimes it wades about in
shallow places, thrusting its head under
from time to time in a jerking, nodding,
frisky way that is sure to attract attention.
It is about the size of a robin, has short crisp
wings serviceable for flying either in water
or air, and a tail of moderate size slanted
upward, giving it, with its nodding, bobbing
manners, a wrennish look. Its color is plain
bluish ash, with a tinge of brown on the
head and shoulders. It flies from fall to fall,
rapid to rapid, with a solid whir of wing-
beats like those of a quail, folio ws the wind-
ings of the stream, and usually alights on
some rock jutting up out of the current, or
on some stranded snag, or rarely on the dry
limb of an overhanging tree, perching like
regular tree birds when it suits its conven-

[ 88 ]

In the Sierra

ience. It has the oddest, daintiest mincing
manners imaginable; and the little fellow
can sing too, a sweet, thrushy, fluty song,
rather low, not the least boisterous, and
much less keen and accentuated than from
its vigorous briskness one would be led to
look for. What a romantic life this little

b

bird leads on the most beautiful portions of
the streams, in a genial climate with shade
and cool water and spray to temper the
summer heat. No wonder it is a fine singer,
considering the stream songs it hears day
and night. Every breath the little poet
draws is part of a song, for all the air about
the rapids and falls is beaten into music,
and its first lessons must begin before it is
born by the thrilling and quivering of the
eggs in unison with the tones of the falls. I
have not yet found its nest, but it must be
near the streams, for it never leaves them.

June 30. Half cloudy, half sunny, clouds
lustrous white. The tall pines crowded
along the top of the Pilot Peak Ridge look

[ 89]

My First Summer

like six-inch miniatures exquisitely out-
lined on the satiny sky. Average cloudiness
for the day about .25. No rain. And so this
memorable month ends, a stream of beauty
unmeasured, no more to be sectioned off
by almanac arithmetic than sun-radiance
or the currents of seas and rivers a peace-
ful, joyful stream of beauty. Every morning,
arising from the death of sleep, the happy
plants and all our fellow animal creatures
great and small, and even the rocks, seemed
to be shouting, "Awake, awake, rejoice,
rejoice, come love us and join in our song.
Come! Come!' Looking back through the
stillness and romantic enchanting beauty and
peace of the camp grove, this June seems
the greatest of all the months of my life,
the most truly, divinely free, boundless like
eternity, immortal. Everything in it seems
equally divine one smooth, pure, wild
glow of Heaven's love, never to be blotted
or blurred by anything past or to come.
"July i. Summer is ripe. Flocks of seeds

[ 90 ]

In the Sierra

are already out of their cups and pods seek-
ing their predestined places. Some will strike
root and grow up beside their parents, others
flying on the wings of the wind far from
them, among strangers. Most of the young
birds are full feathered and out of their nests,
though still looked after by both father and
mother, protected and fed and to some ex-
tent educated. How beautiful the home life
of birds ! No wonder we all love them.

I like to watch the squirrels. There are
two species here, the large California gray
and the Douglas. The latter is the brightest
of all the squirrels I have ever seen, a hot
spark of life, making every tree tingle with
his prickly toes, a condensed nugget of fresh
mountain vigor and valor, as free from dis-
ease as a sunbeam. One cannot think of
such an animal ever being weary or sick.
He seems to think the mountains belong to
him, and at first tried to drive away the
whole flock of sheep as well as the shepherd
and dogs. How he scolds, and what faces

My First Summer

he makes, all eyes, teeth, and whiskers ! If
not so comically small, he would indeed be
a dreadful fellow. I should like to know
more about his bringing up, his life in the
home knot-hole, as w r ell as in the tree-tops,

DOUGLAS SQUIRREL OBSERVING BROTHER MAN

throughout all seasons. Strange that I have
not yet found a nest full of young ones. The
Douglas is nearly allied to the red squirrel
of the Atlantic slope, and may have been dis-
tributed to this side of the continent by way

of the great unbroken forests of the north.

[92]

In the Sierra

The California gray is one of the most
beautiful, and, next to the Douglas, the
most interesting of our hairy neighbors.
Compared with the Douglas he is twice as
large, but far less lively and influential as
a worker in the woods, and he manages to
make his way through leaves and branches
with less stir than his small brother. I have
never heard him bark at anything except
our dogs. When in search of food he glides
silently from branch to branch, examining
last year's cones, to see whether some few
seeds may not be left between the scales,
or gleans fallen ones among the leaves on
the ground, since none of the present sea-
son's crop is yet available. His tail floats
now behind him, now above him, level
or gracefully curled like a wisp of cirrus
cloud, every hair in its place, clean and
shining and radiant as thistle-down in spite
of rough, gummy work. His whole body
seems about as unsubstantial as his tail. The
little Douglas is fiery, peppery, full of brag

[93 ]

My First Summer

and fight and show, with movements so
quick and keen they almost sting the on-
looker, and the harlequin gyrating show
he makes of himself turns one giddy to see.
The gray is shy, and oftentimes stealthy in
his movements, as if half expecting an enemy
in every tree and bush, and back of every
log, wishing only to be let alone apparently,
and manifesting no desire to be seen or
admired or feared. The Indians hunt this
species for food, a good cause for caution,
not to mention other enemies, hawks,
snakes, wild cats. In woods where food is
abundant they wear paths through shelter-
ing thickets and over prostrate trees to some
favorite pool where in hot and dry weather
they drink at nearly the same hour every
day. These pools are said to be narrowly
watched, especially by the boys, who lie in
ambush with bow and arrow, and kill with-
out noise. But, in spite of enemies, squirrels
are happy fellows, forest favorites, types of
tireless life. Of all Nature's wild beasts, they

[ 94 ]

In the Sierra

seem to me the wildest. May we come to
know each other better.

The chaparral-covered hill-slope to the
south of the camp, besides furnishing nest-
ing-places for countless merry birds, is the
home and hiding-place of the curious wood
rat (Neotoma), a handsome, interesting ani-
mal, always attracting attention wherever
seen. It is more like a squirrel than a rat, is
much larger, has delicate, thick, soft fur of
a bluish slate color, white on the belly; ears
large, thin, and translucent ; eyes soft, full,
and liquid; claws slender, sharp as needles;
and as his limbs are strong, he can climb
about as well as a squirrel. No rat or squir-
rel has so innocent a look, is so easily ap-
proached, or expresses such confidence in
one's good intentions. He seems too fine for
the thorny thickets he inhabits, and his hut
also is as unlike himself as may be., though
softly furnished inside. No other animal in-
habitant of these mountains builds houses so
large and striking in appearance. The trav-

[95 ]

My First Summer

eler coming suddenly upon a group of them
for the first time will not be likely to forget
them. They are built of all kinds of sticks,
old rotten pieces picked up anywhere, and
green prickly twigs bitten from the nearest
bushes, the whole mixed with miscellaneous
odds and ends of everything movable, such
as bits of cloddy earth, stones, bones, deer-
horn, etc., piled up in a conical mass as
if it were got ready for burning. Some of
these curious cabins are six feet high and as
wide at the base, and a dozen or more of
them are occasionally grouped together, less
perhaps for the sake of society than for advan-
tages of food and shelter. Coming through
the dense shaggy thickets of some lonely
hillside, the solitary explorer happening into
one of these strange villages is startled at the
sight, and may fancy himself in an Indian
settlement, and begin to wonder what kind
of reception he is likely to get. But no sav-
age face will he see, perhaps not a single
inhabitant, or at most two or three seated

[96]

In the Sierra

on top of their wigwams, looking at the
stranger with the mildest of wild eyes, and
allowing a near approach. In the centre of
the rough spiky hut a soft nest is made of
the inner fibres of bark chewed to tow, and
lined with feathers and the down of vari-
ous seeds, such as willow and milkweed.
The delicate creature in its prickly, thick-
walled home suggests a tender flower in a
thorny involucre. Some of the nests are
built in trees thirty or forty feet from the
ground, and even in garrets, as if seeking
the company and protection of man, like
swallows and linnets, though accustomed to
the wildest solitude. Among housekeepers
Neotoma has the reputation of a thief, be-
cause he carries away everything transport-
able to his queer hut, knives, forks,
combs, nails, tin cups, spectacles, etc.,
merely, however, to strengthen his forti-
fications, I guess. His food at home, as far
as I have learned, is nearly the same as that
of the squirrels, nuts, berries, seeds, and

[97 ]

My First Summer

sometimes the bark and tender shoots of the
various species of ceanothus.

July 2.- Warm, sunny day, thrilling
plant and animals and rocks alike, making
sap and blood flow fast, and making every
particle of the crystal mountains throb and
swirl and dance in glad accord like star-dust.
No dullness anywhere visible or thinkable.
No stagnation, no death. Everything kept
in joyful rhythmic motion in the pulses of
Nature's big heart.

Pearl cumuli over the higher mountains,
clouds, not with a silver lining, but all
silver. The brightest, crispest, rockiest-look-
ing clouds, most varied in features and
keenest in outline I ever saw at any time of
year in any country. The daily building and
unbuilding of these snowy cloud-ranges
the highest Sierra is a prime marvel to
me,and I gaze at the stupendous white domes,
miles high, with ever fresh admiration. But
in the midst of these sky and mountain af-
fairs a change of diet is pulling us down.

[98 1

In the Sierra

We have been out of bread a few days, and
begin to miss it more than seems reasonable,
for we have plenty of meat and sugar and tea.
Strange we should feel food-poor in so rich
a wilderness. The Indians put us to shame,
so do the squirrels, - - starchy roots and seeds
and bark in abundance, yet the failure of the
meal sack disturbs our bodily balance, and
threatens our best enjoyments.

"July 3. Warm. Breeze just enough to
sift through the woods and waft fragrance
from their thousand fountains. The pine
and fir cones are growing well, resin and
balsam dripping from every tree, and seeds
are ripening fast, promising a fine harvest.
The squirrels will have bread. They eat all
kinds of nuts long before they are ripe, and
yet never seem to suffer in stomach.

"July 4. The air beyond the flock
range, full of the essences of the woods,
is growing sweeter and more fragrant from
day to day, like ripening fruit.

Mr. Delaney is expected to arrive soon

[99]

My f}rsf Summer

from the lowlands with a new stock of
provisions, and as the flock is to be moved
to fresh pastures we shall all be well fed.
In the mean time our stock of beans as
well as flour has failed everything but
mutton, sugar, and tea. The shepherd is
somewhat demoralized, and seems to care
but little what becomes of his flock. He
says that since the boss has failed to feed
him he is not rightly bound to feed the
sheep, and swears that no decent white
man can climb these steep mountains on
mutton alone. "It's not fittin' grub for a
white man really white. For dogs and coy-
otes and Indians it 's different. Good grub,
good sheep. That 's what I say.' : Such was
Billy's Fourth of July oration.

"July 5. The clouds of noon on the
high Sierra seem yet more marvelously, in-
describably beautiful from day to day as
one becomes more wakeful to see them.
The smoke of the gunpowder burned yes-
terday on the lowlands, and the eloquence

In the Sierra

of the orators has probably settled or been
blown away by this time. Here every day
is a holiday, a jubilee ever sounding with
serene enthusiasm, without wear or waste or
cloying weariness. Everything rejoicing.
Not a single cell or crystal unvisited or for-
gotten.

July 6.- -Mr. Delaney has not arrived,
and the bread famine is sore. We must eat
mutton a while longer, though it seems hard
to get accustomed to it. I have heard of
Texas pioneers living without bread or any-
thing made from the cereals for months
without suffering, using the breast-meat of
wild turkeys for bread. Of this kind they
had plenty in the good old days when life,
though considered less safe, was fussed over
the less. The trappers and fur traders of
early days in the Rocky Mountain regions
lived on bison and beaver meat for months.
Salmon-eaters, too, there are among both
Indians and whites who seem to suffer little
or not at all from the want of bread. Just

[ 101 ]

My First Summer

at this moment mutton seems the least de-
sirable of food, though of good quality. We
pick out the leanest bits, and down they
go against heavy disgust, causing nausea
and an effort to reject the offensive stuff.
Tea makes matters worse, if possible. The
stomach begins to assert itself as an inde-
pendent creature with a will of its own.
We should boil lupine leaves, clover, starchy
petioles, and saxifrage rootstocks like the
Indians. We try to ignore our gastric
troubles, rise and gaze about us, turn our
eyes to the mountains, and climb doggedly
up through brush and rocks into the heart
of the scenery. A stifled calm comes on,
and the day's duties and even enjoyments
are languidly got through with. We chew
a few leaves of ceanothus by way of lunch-
eon, and smell or chew the spicy monardella
for the dull headache and stomach-ache
that now lightens, now comes muffling
down upon us and into us like fog. At night
more mutton, flesh to flesh, down with it,

In the Sierra

not too much, and there are the stars shin-
ing through the cedar plumes and branches
above our beds.

July 7. Rather weak and sickish this
morning, and all about a piece of bread.
Can scarce command attention to my best
studies, as if one could n't take a few days'
saunter in the Godful woods without main-
taining a base on a wheat-field and grist-
mill. Like caged parrots we want a cracker,
any of the hundred kinds, the remainder
biscuit of a voyage around the world would
answer well enough, nor would the whole-
someness of saleratus biscuit be questioned.
Bread without flesh is a good diet, as on many
botanical excursions I have proved. Tea
also may easily be ignored. Just bread and
water and delightful toil is all I need, not
unreasonably much, yet one ought to be
trained and tempered to enjoy life in these
brave wilds in full independence of any par-
ticular kind of nourishment. That this may
be accomplished is manifest, as far as bodily

[ 103 ]

My First Summer

welfare is concerned, in the lives of people
of other climes. The Eskimo, for example,
gets a living far north of the wheat line,
from oily seals and whales. Meat, berries,
bitter weeds, and blubber, or only the last,
for months at a time; and yet these people
all around the frozen shores of our conti-
nent are said to be hearty, jolly, stout, and
brave. We hear, too, of fish-eaters, carniv-
orous as spiders, yet well enough as far as
stomachs are concerned, while we are so
ridiculously helpless, making wry faces over
our fare, looking sheepish in digestive dis-
tress amid rumbling, grumbling sounds that
might well pass for smothered baas. We
have a large supply of sugar, and this evening
it occurred to me that these belligerent
stomachs might possibly, like complaining
children, be coaxed with candy. Accord-
ingly the frying-pan was cleansed, and a
lot of sugar cooked in it to a sort of wax,
but this stuff only made matters worse.
Man seems to be the only animal whose

[ 104 ]

In the Sierra

food soils him, making necessary much
washing and shield-like bibs and napkins.
Moles living in the earth and eating slimy
worms are yet as clean as seals or fishes,
whose lives are one perpetual wash. And,
as we have seen, the squirrels in these resiny
woods keep themselves clean in some mys-
terious way ; not a hair is sticky, though
they handle the gummy cones, and glide
about apparently without care. The birds,
too, are clean, though they seem to make a
good deal of fuss washing and cleaning
their feathers. Certain flies and ants I see
are in a fix, entangled and sealed up in the
sugar-wax we threw away, like some of
their ancestors in amber. Our stomachs,
like tired muscles, are sore with long squirm-
ing. Once I was very hungry in the Bona-
venture graveyard near Savannah, Georgia,
having fasted for several days; then the
empty stomach seemed to chafe in much
the same way as now, and a somewhat
similar tenderness and aching was produced,

[ 105 ]

My First Summer

hard to bear, though the pain was not acute.
We dream of bread, a sure sign we need it.
Like the Indians, we ought to know how
to get the starch out of fern and saxifrage
stalks, lily bulbs, pine bark, etc. Our edu-
cation has been sadly neglected for many
generations. Wild rice would be good. I
noticed a leersia in wet meadow edges, but
the seeds are small. Acorns are not ripe,
nor pine nuts, nor filberts. The inner bark
of pine or spruce might be tried. Drank
tea until half intoxicated. Man seems to
crave a stimulant when anything extraor-
dinary is going on, and this is the only one
I use. Billy chews great quantities of to-
bacco, which I suppose helps to stupefy and
moderate his misery. We look and listen
for the Don every hour. How beautiful
upon the mountains his big feet would
be!

In the warm, hospitable Sierra, shepherds
and mountain men in general, as far as I
have seen, are easily satisfied as to food sup-

[ 106]

In the Sierra

plies and bedding. Most of them are heartily
content to "rough it," ignoring Nature's
fineness as bothersome or unmanly. The
shepherd's bed is often only the bare ground
and a pair of blankets, with a stone, a piece
of wood, or a pack-saddle for a pillow. In
choosing the spot, he shows less care than
the dogs, for they usually deliberate before
making up their minds in so important an
affair, going from place to place, scraping
away loose sticks and pebbles, and trying
for comfort by making many changes,
while the shepherd casts himself down any-
where, seemingly the least skilled of all
rest seekers. His food, too, even when he
has all he wants, is usually far from delicate,
either in kind or cooking. Beans, bread of
any sort, bacon, mutton, dried peaches, and
sometimes potatoes and onions, make up
his bill-of-fare, the two latter articles being
regarded as luxuries on account of their
weight as compared with the nourishment
they contain; a half-sack or so of each

[ 107 ]

My First Summer

may be put into the pack in setting out
from the home ranch and in a few days they
are done. Beans are the main standby, port-
able, wholesome, and capable of going far,
besides being easily cooked, although curi-
ously enough a great deal of mystery is sup-
posed to lie about the bean-pot. No two
cooks quite agree on the methods of mak-
ing beans do their best, and, after petting
and coaxing and nursing the savory mess,
well oiled and mellowed with bacon boiled
into the heart of it, the proud cook will
ask, after dishing out a quart or two for
trial, " Well, how do you like my beans ? '
as if by no possibility could they be like
any other beans cooked in the same way,
but must needs possess some special virtue
of which he alone is master. Molasses,
sugar, or pepper may be used to give desired
flavors; or the first water may be poured
off and a spoonful or two of ashes or soda
added to dissolve or soften the skins more
fully, according to various tastes and notions.

[ 108 ]

In the Sierra

But, like casks of wine, no two potfuls are
exactly alike to every palate. Some are sup-
posed to be spoiled by the moon, by some
unlucky day, by the beans having been
grown on soil not suitable; or the whole
year may be to blame as not favorable for
beans.

Coffee, too, has its marvels in the camp
kitchen, but not so many, and not so inscru-
table as those that beset the bean-pot. A
low complacent grunt follows a mouthful
drawn in with a gurgle, and the remark
cast forth aimlessly, "That's good coffee."
Then another gurgling sip and repetition
of the judgment, " Tes, sir, that is good
coffee. ' : As to tea, there are but two kinds,
weak and strong, the stronger the better.
The only remark heard is, " That tea 's
weak," otherwise it is good enough and not
worth mentioning. If it has been boiled
an hour or two or smoked on a pitchy fire,
no matter, who cares for a little tannin or
creosote ? they make the black beverage all

[ 109 ]

My First Summer

the stronger and more attractive to tobacco-
tanned palates.

Sheep-camp bread, like most California
camp bread, is baked in Dutch ovens, some of
it in the form of yeast powder biscuit, an un-
wholesome sticky compound leading straight
to dyspepsia. The greater part, however,
is fermented with sour dough, a handful
from each batch being saved and put away
in the mouth of the flour sack to inoculate
the next. The oven is simply a cast-iron
pot, about five inches deep and from twelve
to eighteen inches wide. After the batch
has been mixed and kneaded in a tin pan,
the oven is slightly heated and rubbed with
a piece of tallow or pork rind. The dough
is then placed in it, pressed out against the
sides, and left to rise. When ready for bak-
ing a shovelful of coals is spread out by
the side of the fire and the oven set upon
them, while another shovelful is placed on
top of the lid, which is raised from time to
time to see that the requisite amount of heat

[ no ]

/// the Sierra

is being kept up. With care good bread
may be made in this way, though it is liable
to be burned or to be sour, or raised too
much, and the weight of the oven is a se-
rious objection.

At last Don Delaney comes doon the
lang glen, hunger vanishes, we turn our
eyes to the mountains, and to-morrow we
go climbing toward cloudland.

Never while anything is left of me shall
this first camp be forgotten. It has fairly
grown into me, not merely as memory
pictures, but as part and parcel of mind and
body alike. The deep hopper-like hollow,
with its majestic trees through which all
the wonderful nights the stars poured their
beauty. The flowery wildness of the high
steep slope toward Brown's Flat, and its
bloom-fragrance descending at the close of
the still days. The embowered river-reaches
with their multitude of voices making mel-
ody, the stately flow and rush and glad ex-
ulting onsweeping currents caressing the

My First Summer

dipping sedge-leaves and bushes and mossy
stones, swirling in pools, dividing against
little flowery islands, breaking gray and
white here and there, ever rejoicing, yet
with deep solemn undertones recalling the
ocean, the brave little bird ever beside
them, singing with sweet human tones
among the waltzing foam-bells, and like a
blessed evangel explaining God's love. And
the Pilot Peak Ridge, its long withdrawing
slopes gracefully modeled and braided,
reaching from climate to climate, feathered
with trees that are the kings of their race,
their ranks nobly marshaled to view, spire
above spire, crown above crown, waving
their long, leafy arms, tossing their cones
like ringing bells, blessed sun-fed moun-
taineers rejoicing in their strength, every
tree tuneful, a harp for the winds and the
sun. The hazel and buckthorn pastures of
the deer, the sun-beaten brows purple and
yellow with mint and golden-rods, carpeted
W 7 ith chamoebatia, humming with bees.

A Mountain Stream

In the Sierra

And the dawns and sunrises and sundowns
of these mountain days, the rose light
creeping higher among the stars, changing
to daffodil yellow, the level beams bursting
forth, streaming across the ridges, touch-
ing pine after pine, awakening and warm-
ing all the mighty host to do gladly their
shining day's work. The great sun-gold
noons, the alabaster cloud-mountains, the
landscape beaming with consciousness like
the face of a god. The sunsets, when the
trees stood hushed awaiting their good-
night blessings. Divine, enduring, unwast-
able wealth.

"July 8. - -Now away we go toward the
topmost mountains. Many still, small
voices, as well as the noon thunder, are call-
ing, " Come higher." Farewell, blessed
dell, woods, gardens, streams, birds, squirrels,
lizards, and a thousand others. Farewell.
Farewell.

Up through the woods the hoofed locusts
streamed beneath a cloud of brown dust.

My First Summer

Scarcely were they driven a hundred yards
from the old corral ere they seemed to know
that at last they were going to new pastures,
and rushed wildly ahead, crowding through
gaps in the brush, jumping, tumbling like
exulting, hurrahing flood-waters escaping
through a broken dam. A man on each flank
kept shouting advice to the leaders, who
in their famishing condition were behaving
like Gadarene swine; two other drivers were
busy with stragglers, helping them out of
brush-tangles; the Indian, calm, alert, silently
watched for wanderers likely to be over-
looked; the two dogs ran here and there,
at a loss to know what was best to be
done, while the Don, soon far in the rear,
was trying to keep in sight of his trouble-
some wealth.

As soon as the boundary of the old eaten-
out range was passed the hungry horde sud-
denly became calm, like a mountain stream
in a meadow. Thenceforward they were
allowed to eat their way as slowly as they

In the Sierra

wished, care being taken only to keep them
headed toward the summit of the Merced
and Tuolumne divide. Soon the two thou-
sand flattened paunches were bulged out with
sweet-pea vines and grass, and the gaunt,
desperate creatures, more like wolves than

; ' : , .. '<.

,. t XV- i ,' V J 4 ?

'K ' ' '

!

1

' . i-

> -fK<-

, ' ^ / II .i

.. I .

,

DIVIDE BETWEEN THE TUOLUMNE AND THE MERCED,

BELOW HAZEL GREEN

sheep, became bland and governable, while
the howling drivers changed to gentle shep-
herds, and sauntered in peace.

Toward sundown we reached Hazel
Green, a charming spot on the summit of
the dividing ridge between the basins of the

My First Summer

Merced and Tuolumne, where there is a
small brook flowing through hazel and dog-
wood thickets beneath magnificent silver firs
and pines. Here we are camped for the night,
our big fire, heaped high with rosiny logs
and branches, is blazing like a sunrise, gladly
giving back the light slowly sifted from the
sunbeams of centuries of summers ; and in the
glow of that old sunlight how impressively
surrounding objects are brought forward in
relief against the outer darkness ! Grasses,
larkspurs, columbines, lilies, hazel bushes,
and the great trees form a circle around the
fire like thoughtful spectators, gazing and
listening with human-like enthusiasm. The
night breeze is cool, for all day we have been
climbing into the upper sky, the home of the
cloud mountains we so long have admired.
How sweet and keen the air ! Every breath
a blessing. Here the sugar pine reaches its
fullest development in size and beauty and
number of individuals, filling every swell and
hollow and down-plunging ravine almost to

[ 116]

In the Sierra

the exclusion of other species. A few yel-
low pines are still to be found as com-
panions, and in the coolest places silver
firs; but noble as these are, the sugar pine
is king, and spreads long protecting arms
above them while they rock and wave in
sign of recognition.

We have now reached a height of six
thousand feet. In the forenoon we passed
along a flat part of the dividing ridge that
is planted with manzanita (Arctostapbylos\ 9
some specimens the largest I have seen. I
measured one, the bole of which is four feet
in diameter and only eighteen inches high
from the ground, where it dissolves into
many wide-spreading branches forming a
broad round head about ten or twelve feet
high, covered with clusters of small narrow-
throated pink bells. The leaves are pale
green, glandular, and set on edge by a twist
of the petiole. The branches seem naked;
for the chocolate -colored bark is very
smooth and thin, and is shed off in flakes

[117]

My First Summer

that curl when dry. The wood is red, close-
grained, hard, and heavy. I wonder how
old these curious tree-bushes are, probably
as old as the great pines. Indians and bears
and birds and fat grubs feast on the berries,
which look like small apples, often rosy on
one side, green on the other. The Indians
are said to make a kind of beer or cider
out of them. There are many species. This
one, Arctostaphylos pungens, is common here-
abouts. No need have they to fear the wind,
so low they are and steadfastly rooted. Even
the fires that sweep the woods seldom destroy
them utterly, for they rise again from the
root, and some of the dry ridges they grow
on are seldom touched by fire. I must try to
know them better.

I miss my river songs to-night. Here
Hazel Creek at its topmost springs has a
voice like a bird. The wind-tones in the
great trees overhead are strangely impres-
sive, all the more because not a leaf stirs
below them. But it grows late, and I must to

[ "8 ]

In the Sierra

bed. The camp is silent ; everybody asleep.
It seems extravagant to spend hours so
precious in sleep. " He giveth his be-
loved sleep.' Pity the poor beloved needs
it, weak, weary, forspent; oh, the pity of
it, to sleep in the midst of eternal, beautiful
motion instead of gazing forever, like the
stars.

July 9. Exhilarated with the mountain
air, I feel like shouting this morning with
excess of wild animal joy. The Indian lay
down away from the fire last night, without
blankets, having nothing on, by way of cloth-
ing, but a pair of blue overalls and a calico
shirt wet with sweat. The night air is chilly
at this elevation, and we gave him some
horse-blankets, but he did n't seem to care
for them. A fine thing to be independent of

f

clothing where it is so hard to carry. When
food is scarce, he can live on whatever comes
in his way, a few berries, roots, bird eggs,
grasshoppers, black ants, fat wasp or bum-
blebee larva?, without feeling that he is doing

My First Summer

anything worth mention, so I have been
told.

Our course to-day was along the broad
top of the main ridge to a hollow beyond
Crane Flat. It is scarce at all rocky, and is
covered with the noblest pines and spruces
I have yet seen. Sugar pines from six to
eight feet in diameter are not uncommon,
with a height of two hundred feet or even
more. The silver firs (Abies concolor and A.
magnified} are exceedingly beautiful, espe-
cially the magnifica, which becomes more
abundant the higher we go. It is of great
size, one of the most notable in every way
of the giant conifers of the Sierra. I saw
specimens that measured seven feet in dia-
meter and over two hundred feet in height,
while the average size for what might be
called full-grown mature trees can hardly be
less than one hundred and eighty or two
hundred feet high and five or six feet in
diameter ; and with these noble dimensions
there is a symmetry and perfection of finish

[ 120 ]

In the Sierra

not to be seen in any other tree, hereabout
at least. The branches are whorled in fives
mostly, and stand out from the tall, straight,
exquisitely tapered bole in level collars, each
branch regularly pinnated like the fronds
of ferns, and densely clad with leaves all
around the branchlets, thus giving them a
singularly rich and sumptuous appearance.
The extreme top of the tree is a thick blunt
shoot pointing straight to the zenith like an
admonishing finger. The cones stand erect
like casks on the upper branches. They are
about six inches long, three in diameter,
blunt, velvety, and cylindrical in form, and
very rich and precious looking. The seeds
are about three quarters of an inch long,
dark reddish brown with brilliant irides-
cent purple wings, and when ripe, the
cone falls to pieces, and the seeds thus set
free at a height of one hundred and fifty
or two hundred feet have a good send off
and may fly considerable distances in a
good breeze ; and it is when a good breeze

My First Summer

is blowing that most of them are shaken
free to fly.

The other species, Abies concolor, attains
nearly as great a height and thickness as the
magnifica, but the branches do not form
such regular whorls, nor are they so exactly
pinnated or richly leaf-clad. Instead of
growing all around the branchlets, the
leaves are mostly arranged in two flat hori-
zontal rows. The cones and seeds are like
those of the magnified in form but less than
half as large. The bark of the magnified is
reddish purple and closely furrowed, that
of the concolor gray and widely furrowed.
A noble pair.

At Crane Flat w r e climbed a thousand
feet or more in a distance of about two
miles, the forest growing more dense and
the silvery magnifica fir forming a still
greater portion of the w r hole. Crane Flat
is a meadow with a wide sandy border lying
on the top of the divide. It is often visited
by blue cranes to rest and feed on their long

[ 122 ]

In the Sierra

journeys, hence the name. It is about half
a mile long, draining into the Merced,
sedgy in the middle, with a margin bright
with lilies, columbines, larkspurs, lupines,
castilleia, then an outer zone of dry, gently
sloping ground starred with a multitude of
small flowers, eunanus, mimulus, gilia,
with rosettes of spraguea,and tufts of several
species of eriogonum and the brilliant
zauschneria. The noble forest wall about it is
made up of the two silver firs and the yellow
and sugar pines, which here seem to reach
their highest pitch of beauty and grandeur;
for the elevation, six thousand feet or a
little more, is not too great for the sugar
and yellow pines or too low for the mag-
nifica fir, while the concolor seems to find
this elevation the best possible. About a
mile from the north end of the flat there is
a grove of Sequoia gigantea, the king of all
the conifers. Furthermore, the Douglas
spruce (PseudotsugaDouglasii)and Libocedrus
decurrens, and a few two-leaved pines, occur

[ 123 ]

My First Summer

here and there, forming a small part of the
forest. Three pines, two silver firs, one
Douglas spruce, one sequoia, all of them,
except the two-leaved pine, colossal trees, -
are found here together, an assemblage of
conifers unrivaled on the globe.

We passed a number of charming gar-
den-like meadows lying on top of the
divide or hanging like ribbons down its
sides, imbedded in the glorious forest. Some
are taken up chiefly with the tall white-
flowered Veratrum Calif ornicum, with boat-
shaped leaves about a foot long, eight or
ten inches wide, and veined like those of
cypripedium, a robust, hearty, liliaceous
plant, fond of water and determined to
be seen. Columbine and larkspur grow on
the dryer edges of the meadows, with a tall
handsome lupine standing waist-deep in
long grasses and sedges. Castilleias, too, of
several species make a bright show with
beds of violets at their feet. But the glory

of these forest meadows is a lily (L. par-

[ 124 ]

In the Sierra

vum). The tallest are from seven to eight
feet high with magnificent racemes of ten
to twenty or more small orange-colored
flowers; they stand out free in open ground,
with just enough grass and other compan-
ion plants about them to fringe their feet,
and show them off to best advantage. This
is a grand addition to my lily acquaintances,
a true mountaineer, reaching prime vigor
and beauty at a height of seven thousand
feet or thereabouts. It varies, I find, very
much in size even in the same meadow, not
only with the soil, but with age. I saw a
specimen that had only one flower, and an-
other within a stone's throw had twenty-
five. And to think that the sheep should be
allowed in these lily meadows ! after how
many centuries of Nature's care planting
and watering them, tucking the bulbs in
snugly below winter frost, shading the ten-
der shoots with clouds drawn above them
like curtains, pouring refreshing rain, mak-
ing them perfect in beauty, and keeping

[ 125 ]

My First Summer

them safe by a thousand miracles; yet,
strange to say, allowing the trampling of
devastating sheep. One might reasonably
look for a wall of fire to fence such gardens.
So extravagant is Nature with her choicest
treasures, spending plant beauty as she
spends sunshine, pouring it forth into land
and sea, garden and desert. And so the
beauty of lilies falls on angels and men,
bears and squirrels, wolves and sheep, birds
and bees, but as far as I have seen, man alone,
and the animals he tames, destroy these
gardens. Awkward, lumbering bears, the
Don tells me, love to wallow in them in hot
weather, and deer with their sharp feet cross
them again and again, sauntering and feed-
ing, yet never a lily have I seen spoiled by
them. Rather, like gardeners, they seem to
cultivate them, pressing and dibbling as re-
quired. Anyhow not a leaf or petal seems
misplaced.

The trees round about them seem as per-
fect in beauty and form as the lilies, their

[ 126]

In the Sierra

boughs whorled like lily leaves in exact
order. This evening, as usual, the glow of
our camp-fire is working enchantment on
everything within reach of its rays. Lying
beneath the firs, it is glorious to see them
dipping their spires in the starry sky, the sky
like one vast lily meadow in bloom ! How
can I close my eyes on so precious a night ?
July 10. A Douglas squirrel, peppery,
pungent autocrat of the woods, is barking
overhead this morning, and the small forest
birds, so seldom seen when one travels nois-
ily, are out on sunny branches along the
edge of the meadow getting warm, taking
a sun bath and dew bath a fine sight. How
charming the sprightly confident looks and
ways of these little feathered people of the
trees! They seem sure of dainty, wholesome
breakfasts, and where are so many break-
fasts to come from ? How helpless should w r e
find ourselves should we try to set a table
for them of such buds, seeds, insects, etc.,
as would keep them in the pure wild health

[ 127 ]

My First Summer

they enjoy ! Not a headache or any other
ache amongst them, I guess. As for the
irrepressible Douglas squirrels, one never
thinks of their breakfasts or the possibility
of hunger, sickness, or death ; rather they
seem like stars above chance or change,
even though we may see them at times busy
gathering burrs, working hard for a living.
On through the forest ever higher we
go, a cloud of dust dimming the w r ay, thou-
sands of feet, trampling leaves and flowers,
but in this mighty wilderness they seem but
a feeble band, and a thousand gardens will
escape their blighting touch. They cannot
hurt the trees, though some of the seedlings
suffer, and should the woolly locusts be
greatly multiplied, as on account of dollar
value they are likely to be, then the forests,
too, may in time be destroyed. Only the sky
will then be safe, though hid from view by
dust and smoke, incense of a bad sacrifice.
Poor, helpless, hungry sheep, in great part
misbegotten, without good right to be, semi-

[ 128 ]

In the Sierra

manufactured, made less by God than man,
born out of time and place, yet their voices
are strangely human and call out one's pity.

Our way is still along the Merced and
Tuolumne divide, the streams on our right
going to swell the songful Yosemite River,
those on our left to the songful Tuolumne,
slipping through sunny carex and lily
meadows, and breaking into song down a
thousand ravines almost as soon as they are
born. A more tuneful set of streams surely
nowhere exists, or more sparkling crystal
pure, now gliding with tinkling whisper,
now with merry dimpling rush, in and out
through sunshine and shade, shimmering
in pools, uniting their currents, bouncing,
dancing from form to form over cliffs and
inclines, ever more beautiful the farther
they go until they pour into the main gla-
cial rivers.

All day I have been gazing in growing
admiration at the noble groups of the mag-
nificent silver fir which more and more is

[ 129 ]

My First Summer

taking the ground to itself. The woods above
Crane Flat still continue comparatively
open, letting in the sunshine on the brown
needle-strewn ground. Not only are the in-
dividual trees admirable in symmetry and
superb in foliage and port, but half a dozen
or more often form temple groves in which
the trees are so nicely graded in size and
position as to seem one. Here, indeed, is the
tree-lover's paradise. The dullest eye in the
world must surely be quickened by such
trees as these.

Fortunately the sheep need little atten-
tion, as they are driven slowly and allowed
to nip and nibble as they like. Since leaving
Hazel Green we have been following the
Yosemite trail ; visitors to the famous valley
coming by way of Coulterville and Chinese
Camp pass this way- - the two trails uniting
at Crane Flat - - and enter the valley on the
north side. Another trail enters on the south
side by way of Mariposa. The tourists we
saw were in parties of from three or four to

[ 130 ]

In the Sierra

fifteen or twenty, mounted on mules or small
mustang ponies. A strange show they made,
winding single rile through the solemn woods
in gaudy attire, scaring the wild creatures,
and one might fancy that even the great
pines would be disturbed and groan aghast.
But what may we say of ourselves and the
flock ?

We are now camped at Tamarack Flat,
within four or five miles of the lower end
of Yosemite. Here is another fine meadow
embosomed in the woods, with a deep, clear
stream gliding through it, its banks rounded
and beveled with a thatch of dipping sedges.
The flat is named after the two-leaved pine
(Pinus contort a, var. Murray ana], common
here, especially around the cool margin of
the meadow. On rocky ground it is a rough,
thickset tree, about forty to sixty feet high
and one to three feet in diameter, bark thin
and gummy, branches rather naked, tassels,
leaves, and cones small. But in damp, rich
soil it grows close and slender, and reaches

My First Summer

a height at times of nearly a hundred feet.
Specimens only six inches in diameter. at the
ground are often fifty or sixty feet in height,
as slender and sharp in outline as arrows, like
the true tamarack (larch) of the Eastern
States ; hence the name, though it is a
pine.

July 1 1 . - The Don has gone ahead on
one of the pack animals to spy out the land
to the north of Yosemite in search of the
best point for a central camp. Much higher
than this we cannot now go, for the upper
pastures, said to be better than any here-
abouts, are still buried in heavy winter
snow. Glad I am that camp is to be fixed
in the Yosemite region, for many a glorious
ramble I '11 have along the top of the walls,
and then what landscapes I shall find with
their new mountains and canons, forests
and gardens, lakes and streams and falls,

We are now about seven thousand feet
above the sea, and the nights are so cool we
have to pile coats and extra clothing on top

[ 132 ]

In the Sierra

of our blankets. Tamarack Creek is icy cold,
delicious, exhilarating champagne water. It
is flowing bank full in the meadow with
silent speed, but only a few hundred yards
below our camp the ground is bare gray
granite strewn with boulders, large spaces
being without a single tree or only a small
one here and there anchored in narrow
seams and cracks. The boulders, many of
them very large, are not in piles or scattered
like rubbish among loose crumbling debris
as if weathered out of the solid as boulders
of disintegration; they mostly occur sin-
gly, and are lying on a clean pavement on
which the sunshine falls in a glare that con-
trasts with the shimmer of light and shade
we have been accustomed to in the leafy
woods. And, strange to say, these boulders
lying so still and deserted, with no moving
force near them, no boulder carrier any-
where in sight, were nevertheless brought
from a distance, as difference in color and
composition shows, quarried and carried and

My First Summer

laid down here each in its place ; nor have
they stirred, most of them, through calm
and storm since first they arrived. They
look lonely here, strangers in a strange land,
huge blocks, angular mountain chips,
the largest twenty or thirty feet in diameter,
the chips that Nature has made in model-
ing her landscapes, fashioning the forms of
her mountains and valleys. And with what
tool were they quarried and carried? On
the pavement we find its marks. The most
resisting unweathered portion of the sur-
face is scored and striated in a rigidly par-
allel way, indicating that the region has
been overswept by a glacier from the north-
eastward, grinding down the general mass
of the mountains, scoring and polishing,
producing a strange, raw, wiped appearance,
and dropping whatever boulders it chanced
to be carrying at the time it was melted at
the close of the Glacial Period. A fine dis-
covery this. As for the forests we have
been passing through, they are probably

[ 134 ]

A Glacial Boulder

J

In the Sierra

growing on deposits of soil most of which
has been laid down by this same ice agent
in the form of moraines of different sorts,
now in great part disintegrated and out-
spread by post-glacial weathering.

Out of the grassy meadow and down
over this ice-planed granite runs the glad
young Tamarack Creek, rejoicing, exulting,
chanting, dancing in white, glowing, irised
falls and cascades oh its way to the Merced
Canon, a few miles below Yosemite, fall-
ing more than three thousand feet in a dis-
tance of about two miles.

All the Merced streams are wonderful
singers, and Yosemite is the centre where
the main tributaries meet. From a point
about half a mile from our camp we can
see into the lower end of the famous valley,
with its wonderful cliffs and groves, a grand
page of mountain manuscript that I would
gladly give my life to be able to read. How
vast it seems, how short human life when
we happen to think of it, and how little we

J

My First Summer

may learn, however hard we try ! Yet why
bewail our poor inevitable ignorance? Some
of the external beauty is always in sight,
enough to keep every fibre of us tingling,
and this we are able to gloriously enjoy
though the methods of its creation may lie
beyond our ken. Sing on, brave Tamarack
Creek, fresh from your snowy fountains,
plash and swirl and dance to your fate in
the sea; bathing, cheering every living thing
along your way.

Have greatly enjoyed all this huge day,
sauntering and seeing, steeping in the moun-
tain influences, sketching, noting, pressing
flowers, drinking ozone andTamarack water.
Found the white fragrant Washington lily,
the finest of all the Sierra lilies. Its bulbs
are buried in shaggy chaparral tangles, I sup-
pose for safety from pawing bears; and its
magnificent panicles sway and rock over the
top of the rough snow-pressed bushes, while
big, bold,blunt-nosedbeesdrone and mumble
in its polleny bells. A lovely flower, worth

[ 136 ]

In the Sierra

going hungry and footsore endless miles to
see. The whole world seems richer now
that I have found this plant in so noble a
landscape.

A log house serves to mark a claim to
the Tamarack meadow, which may become
valuable as a station in case travel to Yo-
semite should greatly increase. Belated par-
ties occasionally stop here. A white man
with an Indian woman is holding possession
of the place.

Sauntered up the meadow aboutsundown,
out of sight of camp and sheep and all
human mark, into the deep peace of the
solemn old woods, everything glowing with
Heaven's unquenchable enthusiasm.

July 12. The Don has returned, and
again we go on pilgrimage. " Looking over
the Yosemite Creek country,' 3 he said,
" from the tops of the hills you see nothing
but rocks and patches of trees ; but when
you go down into the rocky desert you find
no end of small grassy banks and meadows,

My First Summer

and so the country is not half so lean as it
looks. There we '11 go and stay until the
snow is melted from the upper country."

I was glad to hear that the high snow
made a stay in the Yosemite region neces-
sary, for I am anxious to see as much of
it as possible. What fine times I shall have
sketching, studying plants and rocks, and
scrambling about the brink of the great
valley alone, out of sight and sound of
camp !

We saw another party of Yosemite tour-
ists to-day. Somehow most of these travelers
seem to care but little for the glorious
objects about them, though enough to spend
time and money and endure long rides to
see the famous valley. And when they are
fairly within the mighty walls of the tem-
ple and hear the psalms of the falls, they
will forget themselves and become devout.
Blessed, indeed, should be every pilgrim in
these holy mountains!

We moved slowly eastward along the

[ 138 ]

In the Sierra

Mono Trail, and early in the afternoon
unpacked and camped on the bank of Cas-
cade Creek. The Mono Trail crosses the
range by the Bloody Canon Pass to gold
mines near the north end of Mono Lake.
These mines were reported to be rich when
first discovered, and a grand rush took place,
making a trail necessary. A few small bridges
were built over streams where fording was
not practicable on account of the softness
of the bottom, sections of fallen trees cut
out, and lanes made through thickets wide
enough to allow the passage of bulky packs;
but over the greater part of the way scarce
a stone or shovelful of earth has been
moved.

The woods we passed through are com-
posed almost wholly of Abies magnifica, the
companion species, conco/or, being mostly left
behind on account of altitude, while the in-
creasing elevation seems grateful to the
charming magnified. No words can do any-
thing like justice to this noble tree. At one

My First Summer

place many had fallen during some heavy
wind-storm, owing to the loose sandy char-
acter of the soil, which offered no secure an-
chorage. The soil is mostly decomposed and
disintegrated moraine material.

The sheep are lying down on a bare
rocky spot such as they like, chewing the
cud in grassy peace. Cooking is going on,
appetites growing keener every day. No
lowlander can appreciate the mountain ap-
petite, and the facility with which heavy
food called " grub ' is disposed of. Eating,
walking, resting, seem alike delightful, and
one feels inclined to shout lustily on rising
in the morning like a crowing cock. Sleep
and digestion as clear as the air. Fine spicy
plush boughs for bedding we shall have to-
night, and a glorious lullaby from this cas-
cading creek. Never was stream more fit-
tingly named, for as far as I have traced it
above and below our camp it is one contin-
uous bouncing, dancing, white bloom of cas-
cades. And at the very last unwearied it

In the Sierra

finishes its wild course in a grand leap of
three hundred feet or more to the bottom
of the main Yosemite canon near the fall
of Tamarack Creek, a few miles below
the foot of the valley. These falls almost
rival some of the far-famed Yosemite falls.
Never shall I forget these glad cascade songs,
the low booming, the roaring, the keen, sil-
very clashing of the cool water rushing exult-
ing from form to form beneath irised spray ;
or in the deep still night seen white in the
darkness, and its multitude of voices sound-
ing still more impressively sublime. Here
I find the little water ouzel as much at home
as any linnet in a leafy grove, seeming to
take the greater delight the more boisterous
the stream. The dizzy precipices, the swift
dashing energy displayed, and the thunder
tones of the sheer falls are awe inspiring, but
there is nothing awful about this little bird.
Its song is sweet and low, and all its gestures,
as it flits about amid the loud uproar, bespeak
strength and peace and joy. Contemplating

My First Summer

these darlings of Nature coming forth from
spray-sprinkled nests on the brink of savage
streams, Samson's riddle comes to mind,
"Out of the strong cometh forth sweetness/ 1
A yet finer bloom is this little bird than
the foam-bells in eddying pools. Gentle
bird, a precious message you bring me.
We may miss the meaning of the torrent,
but thy sweet voice, only love is in it.

July 13. Our course all day has been
eastward over the rim of Yosemite Creek
basin and down about halfway to the bot-
tom, where we have encamped on a sheet
of glacier-polished granite, a firm founda-
tion for beds. Saw the tracks of a very large
bear on the trail, and the Don talked of
bears in general. I said I should like to see
the maker of these immense tracks as he
marched along, and follow him for days,
without disturbing him, to learn something
of the life of this master beast of the wil-
derness. Lambs, the Don told me, born in
the lowland, that never saw or heard a bear,

[ 142 ]

In the Sierra

snort and run in terror when they catch the
scent, showing how fully they have inher-
ited a knowledge of their enemy. Hogs,
mules, horses, and cattle are afraid of bears,
and are seized with ungovernable terror
when they approach, particularly hogs and
mules. Hogs are frequently driven to pas-
tures in the foothills of the Coast Range
and Sierra where acorns are abundant, and
are herded in droves of hundreds like sheep.
When a bear comes to the range they
promptly leave it, emigrating in a body,
usually in the night time, the keepers being
powerless to prevent ; they thus show more
sense than sheep, that simply scatter in the
rocks and brush and await their fate. Mules
flee like the wind with or without riders
when they see a bear, and, if picketed, some-
times break their necks in trying to break
their ropes, though I have not heard of
bears killing mules or horses. Of hogs they
are said to be particularly fond, bolting
small ones, bones and all, without choice of

[ 143 ]

My First Summer

parts. In particular, Mr. Delaney assured
me that all kinds of bears in the Sierra are
very shy, and that hunters found far greater
difficulty in getting within gunshot of them
than of deer or indeed any other animal in
the Sierra, and if I was anxious to see much
of them I should have to wait and watch
with endless Indian patience and pay no at-
tention to anything else.

Night is coming on, the gray rock waves
are growing dim in the twilight. How raw
and young this region appears ! Had the ice
sheet that swept over it vanished but yester-
day, its traces on the more resisting portions
about our camp could hardly be more dis-
tinct than they now are. The horses and
sheep and all of us, indeed, slipped on the
smoothest places.

July 1 4. - - How deathlike is sleep in this
mountain air, and quick the awakening into
newness of life ! A calm dawn, yellow and
purple, then floods of sun-gold, making
everything tingle and glow.

In the Sierra

In an hour or two we came to Yosemite
Creek, the stream that makes the greatest
of all the Yosemite falls. It is about forty
feet wide at the Mono Trail crossing, and
now about four feet in average depth, flow-
ing about three miles an hour. The distance
to the verge of the Yosemite wall, where it
makes its tremendous plunge, is only about
two miles from here. Calm, beautiful, and
nearly silent, it glides with stately gestures,
a dense growth of the slender two-leaved
pine along its banks, and a fringe of willow,
purple spirea, sedges, daisies, lilies, and col-
umbines. Some of the sedges and willow
boughs dip into the current, and just out-
side of the close ranks of trees there is a
sunny flat of washed gravelly sand which
seems to have been deposited by some an-
cient flood. It is covered with millions
of erethrea, eriogonum, and oxytheca, with
more flowers than leaves, forming an even
growth, slightly dimpled and ruffled here
and there by rosettes of Spraguea umbellata.

My First Summer

Back of this flowery strip there is a wavy up-
sloping plain of solid granite, so smoothly
ice-polished in many places that it glistens in
the sun like glass. In shallow hollows there
are patches of trees, mostly the rough form
of the two-leaved pine, rather scrawny look-
ing where there is little or no soil. Also a
few junipers (Juniperus occi Jen f a/is) 9 short
and stout, with bright cinnamon-colored
bark and gray foliage, standing alone mostly,
on the sun-beaten pavement, safe from fire,
clinging by slight joints, a sturdy storm-
enduring mountaineer of a tree, living
on sunshine and snow, maintaining tough
health on this diet for perhaps more than
a thousand years.

Up towards the head of the basin I see
groups of domes rising above the wave-
like ridges, and some picturesque castellated
masses, and dark strips and patches of silver fir,
indicating deposits of fertile soil. Would that
I could command the time to study them !
What rich excursions one could make in

[ 146 ]

In the Sierra

this well-defined basin ! Its glacial inscrip-
tions and sculptures, how marvelous they
seem, how noble the studies they offer! I
tremble with excitement in the dawn of
these glorious mountain sublimities, but I
can only gaze and wonder, and, like a child,
gather here and there a lily, half hoping I
may be able to study and learn in years to
come.

The drivers and dogs had a lively, labori T
ous time getting the sheep across the creek,
the second large stream thus far that they
have been compelled to cross without a
bridge; the first being the North Fork of
the Merced near Bower Cave. Men and dogs,
shouting and barking, drove the timid, water-
fearing creatures in a close crowd against
the bank, but not one of the flock would
launch away. While thus jammed, the Don
and the shepherd rushed through the fright-
ened crowd to stampede those in front, but
this would only cause a break backward,
and away they would scamper through the

My First Summer

stream-bank trees and scatter over the rocky
pavement. Then with the aid of the dogs
the runaways would again be gathered and
made to face the stream, and again the com-
pacted mass would break away, amid wild
shouting and barking that might well have
disturbed the stream itself and marred the
music of its falls, to which visitors no doubt
from all quarters of the globe were listen-
ing. "Hold them there! Now hold them
there ! ' shouted the Don ; "the front ranks
will soon tire of the pressure, and be glad
to take to the water, then all will jump in
and cross in a hurry. >: But they did nothing
of the kind ; they only avoided the pressure
by breaking back in scores and hundreds,
leaving the beauty of the banks sadly
trampled.

If only one could be got to cross over, all
would make haste to follow; but that one
could not be found. A lamb was caught,
carried across, and tied to a bush on the
opposite bank, where it cried piteously for

[ 148 ]

In the Sierra

its mother. But though greatly concerned,
the mother only called it back. That play
on maternal affection failed, and we began
to fear that we should be forced to make a
long roundabout drive and cross the wide-
spread tributaries of the creek in succession.
This would require several days, but it had
its advantages, for I was eager to see the
sources of so famous a stream. Don Quix-
ote, however, determined that they must ford
just here, and immediately began a sort of
siege by cutting down slender pines on the
bank and building a corral barely large
enough to hold the flock when well pressed
together. And as the stream would form
one side of the corral he believed that they
could easily be forced into the water.

In a few hours the inclosure was com-
pleted, and the silly animals were driven in
and rammed hard against the brink of the
ford. Then the Don, forcing a way through
the compacted mass, pitched a few of the
terrified unfortunates into the stream by

[ H9 ]

My First Summer

main strength ; but instead of crossing over,
they swam about close to the bank, mak-
ing desperate attempts to get back into the
flock. Then a dozen or more were shoved
off, and the Don, tall like a crane and a
good natural wader, jumped in after them,
seized a struggling wether, and dragged it
to the opposite shore. But no sooner did he
let it go than it jumped into the stream and
swam back to its frightened companions in
the corral, thus manifesting sheep-nature as
unchangeable as gravitation. Pan with his
pipes would have had no better luck, I fear.
We were now pretty well baffled. The silly
creatures would suffer any sort of death
rather than cross that stream. Calling a
council, the dripping Don declared that
starvation was now the only likely scheme
to try, and that we might as well camp here
in comfort and let the besieged flock grow
hungry and cool, and come to their senses,
if they had any. In a few minutes after
being thus let alone, an adventurer in the

[ 150 ]

In the Sierra

foremost rank plunged in and swam bravely
to the farther shore. Then suddenly all
rushed in pell-mell together, trampling one
another under water, while we vainly tried
to hold them back. The Don jumped into
the thickest of the gasping, gurgling, drown-
ing mass, and shoved them right and left as
if each sheep was a piece of floating timber.
The current also served to drift them
apart ; a long bent column was soon formed,
and in a few minutes all were over and
began baaing and feeding as if nothing out
of the common had happened. That none
were drowned seems wonderful. I fully ex-
pected that hundreds would gain the roman-
tic fate of being swept into Yosemite over
the highest waterfall in the world.

As the day was far spent, we camped a
little way back from the ford, and let the
dripping flock scatter and feed until sun-
down. The wool is dry now, and calm, cud-
chewing peace has fallen on all the comfort-
able band, leaving no trace of the watery

My Firsf Summer

battle. I have seen fish driven out of the
water with less ado than was made in driving
these animals into it. Sheep brain must surely
be poor stuff". Compare to-day's exhibition
with the performances of deer swimming
quietly across broad and rapid rivers, and
from island to island in seas and lakes; or
with dogs, or even with the squirrels that,
as the story goes, cross the Mississippi River
on selected chips, with tails for sails com-
fortably trimmed to the breeze. A sheep
can hardly be called an animal; an entire
flock is required to make one foolish indi-
vidual.

"July 15. Followed the Mono Trail up
the eastern rim of the basin nearly to its sum-
mit, then turned off* southward to a small
shallow valley that extends to the edge of
the Yosemite, which we reached about noon,
and encamped. After luncheon I made haste
to high ground, and from the top of the ridge
on the w^est side of Indian Canon gained
the noblest view of the summit peaks I have

[ 152 ]

In the Sierra

ever yet enjoyed. Nearly all the upper basin
of the Merced was displayed, with its sublime
domes and canons, dark upsweeping forests,
and glorious array of white peaks deep in the
sky, every feature glowing, radiating beauty
that pours into our flesh and bones like heat
rays from fire. Sunshine over all; no breath
of wind to stir the brooding calm. Never
before had I seen so glorious a landscape, so
boundless an affluence of sublime mountain
beauty. The most extravagant description
I might give of this view to any one who has
not seen similar landscapes with his own
eyes would not so much as hint its grandeur
and the spiritual glow that covered it. I
shouted and gesticulated in a wild burst of
ecstasy, much to the astonishment of St.
Bernard Carlo, who came running up to me,
manifesting in his intelligent eyes a puzzled
concern that was very ludicrous, which had
the effect of bringing me to my senses. A
brown bear, too, it would seem, had been a
spectator of the show I had made of myself,

My First Summer

for I had gone but a few yards when I started
one from a thicket of brush. He evidently
considered me dangerous, for he ran away very
fast, tumbling over the tops of the tangled
manzanita bushes in his haste. Carlo drew
back, with his ears depressed as if afraid,
and kept looking me in the face, as if ex-
pecting me to pursue and shoot, for he had
seen many a bear battle in his day.

Following the ridge which made a grad-
ual descent to the south, I came at length to
the brow of that massive cliff that stands be-
tween Indian Canon and Yosemite Falls, and
here the far-famed valley came suddenly into
view throughout almost its whole extent.
The noble walls sculptured into endless
variety of domes and gables, spires and bat-
tlements and plain mural precipices all
a-tremble with the thunder tones of the fall-
ing water. The level bottom seemed to be
dressed like a garden, sunny meadows here
and there, and groves of pine and oak ; the
river of Mercy sweeping in majesty through

In the Sierra

the midst of them and flashing back the sun-
beams. The great Tissiack, or Half-Dome,
rising at the upper end of the valley to a
height of nearly a mile, is nobly proportioned
and life-like, the most impressive of all the
rocks, holding the eye in devout admiration,
calling it back again and again from falls
or meadows, or even the mountains beyond,
marvelous cliffs, marvelous in sheer dizzy
depth and sculpture, types of endurance.
Thousands of years have they stood in the
sky exposed to rain, snow, frost, earthquake
and avalanche, yet they still wear the bloom
of youth.

I rambled along the valley rim to the
westward; most of it is rounded off on the
very brink, so that it is not easy to find places
where one may look clear down the face of
the wall to the bottom. When such places
were found, and I had cautiously set my feet
and drawn my body erect, I could not help
fearing a little that the rock might split off
and let me down, and what a down!

My First Summer

more than three thousand feet. Still my
limbs did not tremble, nor did I feel the least
uncertainty as to the reliance to be placed
on them. My only fear was that a flake of
the granite, which in some places showed
joints more or less open and running parallel
with the face of the cliff, might give way.
After withdrawing from such places, excited
with the view I had got, I would say to
myself, " Now don't go out on the verge
again." But in the face of Yosemite scenery
cautious remonstrance is vain ; under its spell
one's body seems to go w r here it likes with a
will over which we seem to have scarce any
control.

After a mile or so of this memorable
cliff work I approached Yosemite Creek,
admiring its easy, graceful, confident ges-
tures as it comes bravely forward in its nar-
row channel, singing the last of its mountain
songs on its way to its fate a few rods
more over the shining granite, then down
half a mile in snowy foam to another world,

[156]

In the Sierra

to be lost in the Merced, where climate,
vegetation, inhabitants, all are different.
Emerging from its last gorge, it glides in
wide lace-like rapids down a smooth incline
into a pool where it seems to rest and com-
pose its gray, agitated waters before taking
the grand plunge, then slowly slipping over
the lip of the pool basin, it descends another
glossy slope with rapidly accelerated speed
to the brink of the tremendous cliff, and
with sublime, fateful confidence springs out
free in the air.

I took off my shoes and stockings and
worked my way cautiously down alongside
the rushing flood, keeping my feet and
hands pressed firmly on the polished rock.
The booming, roaring water, rushing past
close to my head, was very exciting. I had
expected that the sloping apron would ter-
minate with the perpendicular wall of the
valley, and that from the foot of it, where
it is less steeply inclined, I should be able to
lean far enough out to see the forms and

My First Summer

behavior of the fall all the way down to the
bottom. But I found that there was yet an-
other small brow over which I could not
see, and which appeared to be too steep for
mortal feet. Scanning it keenly, I discovered
a narrow shelf about three inches wide on
the very brink, just wide enough for a rest
for one's heels. But there seemed to be no
way of reaching it over so steep a brow. At
length, after careful scrutiny of the surface,
I found an irregular edge of a flake of the
rock some distance back from the margin
of the torrent. If I was to get down to the
brink at all that rough edge, which might
offer slight finger holds, was the only way.
But the slope beside it looked dangerously
smooth and steep, and the swift roaring flood
beneath, overhead, and beside me was very
nerve-trying. I therefore concluded not to
venture farther, but did nevertheless. Tufts
of artemisia were growing in clefts of the
rock near by, and I filled my mouth with
the bitter leaves, hoping they might help to

[ 158 ]

In the Sierra

prevent giddiness. Then, with a caution not
known in ordinary circumstances, I crept
down safely to the little ledge, got my heels
well planted on it, then shuffled in a hori-
zontal direction twenty or thirty feet until
close to the outplunging current, which, by
the time it had descended thus far, was al-
ready white. Here I obtained a perfectly
free view down into the heart of the snowy,
chanting throng of comet-like streamers,
into which the body of the fall soon sepa-
rates.

While perched on that narrow niche I
was not distinctly conscious of danger. The
tremendous grandeur of the fall in form
and sound and motion, acting at close range,
smothered the sense of fear, and in such
places one's body takes keen care for safety
on its own account. How long I remained
down there, or how I returned, I can hardly
tell. Anyhow I had a glorious time, and got
back to camp about dark, enjoying trium-
phant exhilaration soon followed by dull

My First Summer

weariness. Hereafter I '11 try to keep from
such extravagant, nerve-straining places.
Yet such a day is well worth venturing
for. My first view of the High Sierra, first
view looking down into Yosemite, the death
song of Yosemite Creek, and its flight over
the vast cliff", each one of these is of itself
enough for a great life-long landscape for-
tune a most memorable day of days
enjoyment enough to kill if that were pos-
sible.

July 1 6. My enjoyments yesterday af-
ternoon, especially at the head of the fall,
were too great for good sleep. Kept start-
ing up last night in a nervous tremor, half
awake, fancying that the foundation of the
mountain we were camped on had given
way and was falling into Yosemite Valley.
In vain I roused myself to make a new be-
ginning for sound sleep. The nerve strain
had been too great, and again and again I
dreamed I was rushing through the air above

a glorious avalanche of water and rocks. One

[ 160]

In the Sierra

time, springing to my feet, I said, " This
time it is real all must die, and where
could mountaineer find a more glorious
death ! "

Left camp soon after sunrise for an all-
day ramble eastward. Crossed the head of
Indian Basin, forested with Abies magnified,
underbrush mostly Ceanotbus cordulatus and
manzanita, a mixture not easily trampled
over or penetrated, for the ceanothus is
thorny and grows in dense snow-pressed
masses, and the manzanita has exceedingly
crooked, stubborn branches. From the head
of the canon continued on past North
Dome into the basin of Dome or Porcu-
pine Creek. Here are many fine meadows
imbedded in the woods, gay with Lilium
parvum and its companions ; the elevation,
about eight thousand feet, seems to be best
suited for it saw specimens that were a
foot or two higher than my head. Had
more magnificent views of the upper moun-
tains, and of the great South Dome, said to

[ 161 ]

My First Summer

be the grandest rock in the world. Well
it may be, since it is of such noble dimen-
sions and sculpture. A wonderfully impres-
sive monument, its lines exquisite in fine-
ness, and though sublime in size, is finished
like the finest work of art, and seems to be
alive.

July 17.- -A new camp was made to-
day in a magnificent silver fir grove at the
head of a small stream that flows into Yose-
mite by way of Indian Canon. Here we in-
tend to stay several weeks,- - a fine location
from which to make excursions about the
great valley and its fountains. Glorious days
I '11 have sketching, pressing plants, study-
ing the wonderful topography, and the wild
animals, our happy fellow mortals and
neighbors. But the vast mountains in the
distance, shall I ever know them, shall I be
allowed to enter into their midst and dwell
with them?

We were pelted about noon by a short,
heavy rain-storm, sublime thunder rever-

[ 162 ]

In the Sierra

berating among the mountains and canons,
some strokes near, crashing, ringing in
the tense crisp air with startling keenness,
while the distant peaks loomed gloriously
through the cloud fringes and sheets of rain.
Now the storm is past, and the fresh washed
air is full of the essences of the flower gardens
and groves. Winter storms in Yosemite
must be glorious. May I see them !

Have got my bed made in our new
camp, plushy, sumptuous, and deliciously
fragrant, most of it magnified fir plumes, of
course, with a variety of sweet flowers in the
pillow. Hope to sleep to-night without
tottering nerve-dreams. Watched a deer
eating ceanothus leaves and twigs.

July i 8. Slept pretty well ; the valley
walls did not seem to fall, though I still
fancied myself at the brink, alongside the
white, plunging flood, especially when half
asleep. Strange the danger of that adven-
ture should be more troublesome now that
I am in the bosom of the peaceful woods,

[ 163 1

My First Summer

a mile or more from the fall, than it was
while I was on the brink of it.

Bears seem to be common here, judging
by their tracks. About noon we had another
rain-storm with keen startling thunder, the
metallic, ringing, clashing, clanging notes
gradually fading into low bass rolling and
muttering in the distance. For a few min-
utes the rain came in a grand torrent like a
waterfall, then hail ; some of the hailstones
an inch in diameter, hard, icy, and irregular
in form, like those oftentimes seen in Wis-
consin. Carlo watched them with intelli-
gent astonishment as they came pelting and
thrashing through the quivering branches
of the trees. The cloud scenery sublime.
Afternoon calm, sunful, and clear, with de-
licious freshness and fragrance from the firs
and flowers and steaming ground.

'July 19. Watching the daybreak and
sunrise. The pale rose and purple sky
changing softly to daffodil yellow and white,
sunbeams pouring through the passes be-

[ '64 ]

In the Sierra

tween the peaks and over the Yosemite
domes, making their edges burn ; the silver
firs in the middle ground catching the glow
on their spiry tops, and our camp grove
fills and thrills with the glorious light.
Everything awakening alert and joyful ;
the birds begin to stir and innumerable in-
sect people. Deer quietly withdraw into
leafy hiding-places in the chaparral; the
dew vanishes, flowers spread their petals,
every pulse beats high, every life cell re-
joices, the very rocks seem to thrill with
life. The whole landscape glows like a
human face in a glory of enthusiasm, and
the blue sky, pale around the horizon,
bends peacefully down over all like one vast
flower.

About noon, as usual, big bossy cumuli
began to grow above the forest, and the rain-
storm pouring from them is the most im-
posing I have yet seen. The silvery zigzag
lightning lances are longer than usual, and
the thunder gloriously impressive, keen,

[ 165 ]

My First Summer

crashing, intensely concentrated, speaking
with such tremendous energy it would seem
that an entire mountain is being shattered
at every stroke, but probably only a few
trees are being shattered, many of which I
have seen on my walks hereabouts strewing
the ground. At last the clear ringing strokes
are succeeded by deep low tones that grow
gradually fainter as they roll afar into the
recesses of the echoing mountains, where
they seem to be welcomed home. Then
another and another peal, or rather crash-
ing, splintering stroke, follows in quick suc-
cession, perchance splitting some giant pine
or fir from top to bottom into long rails
and slivers, and scattering them to all points
of the compass. Now comes the rain, with
corresponding extravagant grandeur, cover-
ing the ground high and low with a sheet
of flowing water, a transparent film fitted
like a skin upon the rugged anatomy of
the landscape, making the rocks glitter and
glow, gathering in the ravines, flooding the

[ 166 ]

Thunder-storm over Tosemlte

In the Sierra

streams, and making them shout and boom
in reply to the thunder.

How interesting to trace the history of
a single raindrop! It is not long, geologi-
cally speaking, as we have seen, since the
first raindrops fell on the newborn leafless
Sierra landscapes. How different the lot of
these falling now ! Happy the showers that
fall on so fair a wilderness, scarce a single
drop can fail to find a beautiful spot, on
the tops of the peaks, on the shining glacier
pavements, on the great smooth domes, on
forests and gardens and brushy moraines,
plashing, glinting, pattering, laving. Some
go to the high snowy fountains to swell
their well-saved stores; some into the lakes,
washing the mountain windows, patting
their smooth glassy levels, making dimples
and bubbles and spray ; some into the water-
falls and cascades, as if eager to join in their
dance and song and beat their foam yet
finer; good luck and good work for the
happy mountain raindrops, each one of

[ 167 ]

My First Summer

them a high waterfall in itself, descending
from the cliffs and hollows of the clouds to
the cliffs and hollows of the rocks, out of
the sky-thunder into the thunder of the
falling rivers. Some, falling on meadows
and bogs, creep silently out of sight to the
grass roots, hiding softly as in a nest, slip-
ping, oozing hither, thither, seeking and
finding theirappointed work. Some,descend-
ing through the spires of the woods, sift
spray through the shining needles, whisper-
ing peace and good cheer to each one of
them. Some drops with happy aim glint on
the sides of crystals, quartz, hornblende,
garnet, zircon, tourmaline, feldspar, patter
on grains of gold and heavy way-worn nug-
gets; some, with blunt plap-plap and low
bass drumming, fall on the broad leaves
of veratrum, saxifrage, cypripedium. Some
happy drops fall straight into the cups of
flowers, kissing the lips of lilies. How r far
they have to go, how many cups to fill, great
and small, cells too small to be seen, cups

[ 168 ]

In the Sierra

holding half a drop as well as lake basins
between the hills, each replenished with
equal care, every drop in all the blessed
throng a silvery newborn star with lake and
river, garden and grove, valley and moun-
tain, all that the landscape holds reflected
in its crystal depths, God's messenger, angel
of love sent on its way with majesty and
pomp and display of power that make
man's greatest shows ridiculous.

Now the storm is over, the skv is clear,

* j

the last rolling thunder-wave is spent on
the peaks, and where are the raindrops
now what has become of all the shining
throng? In winged vapor rising some are
already hastening back to the sky, some have
gone into the plants, creeping through in-
visible doors into the round rooms of cells,
some are locked in crystals of ice, some in
rock crystals, some in porous moraines to
keep their small springs flowing, some have
gone journeying on in the rivers to join the
larger raindrop of the ocean. From form

[ 169 ]

My First Summer

to form, beauty to beauty, ever changing,
never resting, all are speeding on with
love's enthusiasm, singing with the stars the
eternal song of creation.

July 20. - -Fine calm morning; air tense
and clear; not the slightest breeze astir;
everything shining, the rocks with wet
crystals, the plants with dew, each receiving
its portion of irised dewdrops and sunshine
like living creatures getting their breakfast,
their dew manna coming down from the
starry sky like swarms of smaller stars.
How wondrous fine are the particles in
showers of dew, thousands required for a
single drop, growing in the dark as silently
as the grass ! What pains are taken to keep
this wilderness in health,- - showers of snow,
showers of rain, showers of dew, floods of
light, floods of invisible vapor, clouds, winds,
all sorts of weather, interaction of plant
on plant, animal on animal, etc., beyond
thought! How fine Nature's methods! How
deeply with beauty is beauty overlaid ! the

[ 170 ]

In the Sierra

ground covered with crystals, the crystals
with mosses and lichens and low-spreading
grasses and flowers, these with larger plants
leaf over leaf with ever-changing color and
form, the broad palms of the firs outspread
over these, the azure dome over all like a
bell-flower, and star above star.

Yonder stands the South Dome, its crown
high above our camp, though its base is
four thousand feet below us ; a most noble
rock, it seems full of thought, clothed with
living light, no sense of dead stone about
it, all spiritualized, neither heavy looking
nor light, steadfast in serene strength like
a god.

Our shepherd is a queer character and
hard to place in this wilderness. His bed
is a hollow made in red dry-rot punky
dust beside a log which forms a portion of
the south wall of the corral. Here he lies
with his wonderful everlasting clothing on,
wrapped in a red blanket, breathing not
only the dust of the decayed wood but also

My First Summer

that of the corral, as if determined to take
ammoniacal snuff all night after chewing
tobacco all day. Following the sheep he
carries a heavy six-shooter swung from his
belt on one side and his luncheon on the
other. The ancient cloth in which the meat,
fresh from the frying-pan, is tied serves as
a filter through which the clear fat and
gravy juices drip down on his right hip and
leg in clustering stalactites. This oleaginous
formation is soon broken up, however, and
diffused and rubbed evenly into his scanty
apparel, by sitting down, rolling over, cross-
ing his legs while resting on logs, etc.,
making shirt and trousers water-tight and
shiny. His trousers, in particular, have be-
come so adhesive with the mixed fat and
resin that pine needles, thin flakes and fibres
of bark, hair, mica scales and minute grains
of quartz, hornblende, etc., feathers, seed
wings, moth and butterfly wings, legs and
antennae of innumerable insects, or even
whole insects such as the small beetles,

[ 172 ]

In the Sierra

moths and mosquitoes, with flower petals,
pollen dust and indeed bits of all plants,
animals, and minerals of the region adhere
to them and are safely imbedded, so that
though far from being a naturalist he col-
lects fragmentary specimens of everything
and becomes richer than he knows. His
specimens are kept passably fresh, too, by the
purity of the air and the resiny bituminous
beds into which they are pressed. Man is
a microcosm, at least our shepherd is, or
rather his trousers. These precious overalls
are never taken off, and nobody knows how
old they are, though one may guess by
their thickness and concentric structure.
Instead of wearing thin they wear thick,
and in their stratification have no small
geological significance.

Besides herding the sheep, Billy is the
butcher, while I have agreed to wash the few
iron and tin utensils and make the bread.
Then, these small duties done, by the time
the sun is fairly above the mountain-tops I

[ 173 1

My First Summer

am beyond the flock, free to rove and revel
in the wilderness all the big immortal days.
Sketching on the North Dome. It com-
mands views of nearly all the valley besides
a few of the high mountains. I would fain
draw everything in sight, rock, tree, and
leaf. But little can I do beyond mere out-
lines, marks with meanings like words,
readable only to myself,- -yet I sharpen my
pencils and work on as if others might pos-
sibly be benefited. Whether these picture-
sheets are to vanish like fallen leaves or go
to friends like letters, matters not much ; for
little can they tell to those who have not
themselves seen similar wildness, and like a
language have learned it. No pain here, no
dull empty hours, no fear of the past, no fear
of the future. These blessed mountains are
so compactly filled with God's beauty, no
petty personal hope or experience has room
to be. Drinking this champagne water is
pure pleasure, so is breathing the living air,
and every movement of limbs is pleasure,

[ 174 ]

In the Sierra

while the whole body seems to feel beauty
when exposed to it as it feels the camp-fire or
sunshine, entering not by the eyes alone, but
equally through all one's flesh like radiant
heat, making a passionate ecstatic pleasure-
glow not explainable. One's body then seems
homogeneous throughout, sound as a crystal.
Perched like a fly on this Yosemitedome,
I gaze and sketch and bask, oftentimes set-
tling down into dumb admiration without
definite hope of ever learning much, yet
with the longing, unresting effort that lies at
the door of hope, humbly prostrate before
the vast display of God's power, and eager
to offer self-denial and renunciation with
eternal toil to learn any lesson in the divine

J

manuscript.

It is easier to feel than to realize, or in
any way explain Yosemite grandeur. The
magnitudes of the rocks and trees and streams
are so delicately harmonized they are mostly
hidden. Sheer precipices three thousand feet
high are fringed with tall trees growing close

My First Summer

like grass on the brow of a lowland hill, and
extending along the feet of these precipices
a ribbon of meadow a mile wide and seven or
eight long, that seems like a strip a farmer
might mow in less than a day. Waterfalls, five
hundred to one or two thousand feet high,
are so subordinated to the mighty cliffs over
which they pour that they seem like wisps
of smoke, gentle as floating clouds, though
their voices fill the valley and make the rocks
tremble. The mountains, too, along the
eastern sky, and the domes in front of them,
and the succession of smooth rounded waves
between, swelling higher, higher, with dark
woods in their hollows, serene in massive
exuberant bulk and beauty, tend yet more
to hide the grandeur of the Yosemite temple
and make it appear as a subdued subordinate
feature of the vast harmonious landscape.
Thus every attempt to appreciate any one
feature is beaten down by the overwhelming
influence of all the others. And, as if this
were not enough, lo! in the sky arises

[ 176 ]

In the Sierra

another mountain range with topography
as rugged and substantial-looking as the
one beneath it snowy peaks and domes
and shadowy Yosemite valleys another
version of the snowy Sierra, a new creation
heralded by a thunder-storm. How fiercely,
devoutly wild is Nature in the midst of
her beauty-loving tenderness! painting
lilies, watering them, caressing them with
gentle hand, going from flower to flower
like a gardener while building rock moun-
tains and cloud mountains full of lightning
and rain. Gladly we run for shelter beneath
an overhanging cliff and examine the re-
assuring ferns and mosses, gentle love tokens
growing in cracks and chinks. Daisies, too,
and ivesias, confiding wild children of light,
too small to fear. To these one's heart goes
home, and the voices of the storm become
gentle. Now the sun breaks forth and fra-
grant steam arises. The birds are out singing
on the edges of the groves. The west is flam-
ing in gold and purple, ready for the cere-

My First Summer

mony of the sunset, and back I go to camp
with my notes and pictures, the best of them
printed in my mind as dreams. A fruitful
day, without measured beginning or ending.
A terrestrial eternity. A gift of good God.

Wrote to my mother and a few friends,
mountain hints to each. They seem as near
as if within voice-reach or touch. The
deeper the solitude the less the sense of lone-
liness, and the nearer our friends. Now bread
and tea, fir bed and good-night to Carlo, a
look at the sky lilies, and death sleep until
the dawn of another Sierra to-morrow.

July 21. Sketching on the Dome, -
no rain; clouds at noon about quarter filled
the sky, casting shadows with tine effect on
the white mountains at the heads of the
streams, and a soothing cover over the gar-
dens during the warm hours.

Saw a common house fly and a grasshop-
per and a brown bear. The fly and grass-
hopper paid me a merry visit on the top of
the Dome, and I paid a visit to the bear in

[ 173 ]

In the Sierra

the middle of a small garden meadow
between the Dome and the camp where he
was standing alert among the flowers as if
willing to be seen to advantage. I had not
gone more than half a mile from camp this
morning, when Carlo, who was trotting on
a few yards ahead of me, came to a sudden,
cautious standstill. Down went tail and
ears, and forward went his knowing nose,
while he seemed to be saying " Ha, what 's
this? A bear, I guess." Then a cautious
advance of a few steps, setting his feet down
softly like a hunting cat, and questioning
the air as to the scent he had caught until
all doubt vanished. Then he came back to
me, looked me in the face, and with his
speaking eyes reported a bear near by; then
led on softly, careful, like an experienced
hunter, not to make the slightest noise, and
frequently looking back as if whispering
" Yes, it 's a bear, come and I '11 show
you." Presently we came to where the sun-
beams were streaming through between the

My First Summer

purple vshafts of the firs, which showed that
we were nearing an open spot, and here
Carlo came behind me, evidently sure that
the bear was very near. So I crept to a low
ridge of moraine boulders on the edge
of a narrow garden meadow, and in this
meadow I felt pretty sure the bear must be.
I was anxious to get a good look at the
sturdy mountaineer without alarming him;
so drawing myself up noiselessly back of
one of the largest of the trees I peered past
its bulging buttresses, exposing only a part
of my head, and there stood neighbor Bruin
within a stone's throw, his hips covered by
tall grass and flowers, and his front feet on
the trunk of a fir that had fallen out into
the meadow, which raised his head so high
that he seemed to be standing erect. He
had not yet seen me, but was looking and
listening attentively, showing that in some
way he was aware of our approach. I watched
his gestures and tried to make the most of
my opportunity to learn what I could about

1 80 ]

In the Sierra

him, fearing he would catch sight of me
and run away. For I had been told that
this sort of bear, the cinnamon, always ran
from his bad brother man, never showing
fight unless wounded or in defense of young.
He made a telling picture standing alert in
the sunny forest garden. How well he
played his part, harmonizing in bulk and
color and shaggy hair with the trunks of
the trees and lush vegetation, as natural a
feature as any other in the landscape. After
examining at leisure, noting the sharp
muzzle thrust inquiringly forward, the long
shaggy hair on his broad chest, the stiff
erect ears nearly buried in hair, and the
slow heavy way he moved his head, I
thought I should like to see his gait in run-
ning, so I made a sudden rush at him,
shouting and swinging my hat to frighten
him, expecting to see him make haste to
get away. But to my dismay he did not
run or show any sign of running. On the

contrary, he stood his ground ready to fight

[ 181 ]

My First Summer

and defend himself, lowered his head, thrust
it forward, and looked sharply and fiercely
at me. Then I suddenly began to fear that
upon me would fall the work of running ;
but I was afraid to run, and therefore, like
the bear, held my ground. We stood staring
at each other in solemn silence within a
dozen yards or thereabouts, while I fervently
hoped that the power of the human eye
over wild beasts would prove as great as it
is said to be. How long our awfully strenu-
ous interview lasted, I don't know; but at
length in the slow fullness of time he pulled
his huge paws down off the log, and with
magnificent deliberation turned and walked
leisurely up the meadow, stopping frequently
to look back over his shoulder to see
whether I was pursuing him, then moving
on again, evidently neither fearing me very
much nor trusting me. He was probably
about five hundred pounds in weight, a
broad rusty bundle of ungovernable wild-
ness, a happy fellow whose lines have fallen

[ 182 ]

In the Sierra

in pleasant places. The flowery glade in
which I saw him so well, framed like a
picture, is one of the best of all I have yet
discovered, a conservatory of Nature's pre-
cious plant people. Tall lilies were swing-
ing their bells over that bear's back, with
geraniums, larkspurs, columbines, and daisies
brushing against his sides. A place for
angels, one would say, instead of bears.

In the great canons Bruin reigns su-
preme. Happy fellow, whom no famine
can reach while one of his thousand kinds
of food is spared him. His bread is sure at
all seasons, ranged on the mountain shelves
like stores in a pantry. From one to the
other, up or down he climbs, tasting and
enjoying each in turn in different climates,
as if he had journeyed thousands of miles
to other countries north or south to enjoy
their varied productions. I should like to
know my hairy brothers better, - though
after this particular Yosemite bear, my very
neighbor, had sauntered out of sight this

[ 183 ]

My First Summer

morning, I reluctantly went back to camp
for the Don's rifle to shoot him, if neces-
sary, in defense of the flock. Fortunately I
could n't find him, and after tracking him
a mile or two towards Mt. Hoffman I bade
him Godspeed and gladly returned to my
work on the Yosemite dome.

The house fly also seemed at home and
buzzed about me as I sat sketching, and en-
joying my bear interview now it was over.
I wonder what draws house flies so far up the
mountains, heavy, gross feeders as they are,
sensitive to cold, and fond of domestic ease.
How have they been distributed from con-
tinent to continent, across seas and deserts
and mountain chains, usually so influential
in determining boundaries of species both
of plants and animals. Beetles and butter-
flies are sometimes restricted to small areas.
Each mountain in a range, and even the
different zones of a mountain, may have
its own peculiar species. But the house fly
seems to be everywhere. I wonder if any

[ 184 ]

In the Sierra

island in mid-ocean is flyless. The bluebot-
tle is abundant in these Yosemite woods,
ever ready with his marvelous store of eggs
to make all dead flesh fly. Bumblebees are
here, and are well fed on boundless stores of
nectar and pollen. The honeybee, though
abundant in the foothills, has not yet got so
high. It is only a few years since the first
swarm was brought to California.

A queer fellow and a jolly fellow is the
grasshopper. Up the mountains he comes
on excursions, how high I don't know, but
at least as far and high as Yosemite tourists.
I was much interested with the hearty en-
joyment oi the one that danced and sang
for me on the Dome this afternoon. He
seemed brimful of glad, hilarious energy,
manifested by springing into the air to a
height of twenty or thirty feet, then diving
and springing up again and making a sharp
musical rattle just as the lowest point in the
descent was reached. Up and down a dozen
times or so he danced and sang, then alighted

[ 185 ]

My First Summer

to rest, then up and at it again. The curves
he described in the air in diving and rat-
tling resembled those made by cords hang-
ing loosely and attached at the same height

V \ ' '

- " -.

\

TRACK OF SINGING DANCING GRASSHOPPER IN THE
AIR OVER NORTH DOME

at the ends, the loops nearly covering each
other. Braver, heartier, keener, care-free
enjoyment of life I have never seen or heard
in any creature, great or small. The life of

[ 186 ]

In the Sierra

this comic redlegs, the mountain's merriest
child, seems to be made up of pure, con-
densed gayety. The Douglas squirrel is the
only living creature that I can compare
him with in exuberant, rollicking, irrepress-
ible jollity. Wonderful that these sublime
mountains are so loudly cheered and bright-
ened by a creature so queer. Nature in him
seems to be snapping her fingers in the face
of all earthy dejection and melancholy with
a boyish hip-hip-hurrah. How the sound is
made I do not understand. When he was on
the ground he made not the slightest noise,
nor when he was simply flying from place to
place, but only when diving in curves, the
motion seeming to be required for the sound ;
for the more vigorous the diving the more
energetic the corresponding outbursts of jolly
rattling. I tried to observe him closely while
he was resting in the intervals of his per-
formances; but he would not allow a near
approach, always getting his jumping legs
ready to spring for immediate flight, and

[ 187 ]

My First Summer

keeping his eyes on me. A fine sermon the
little fellow danced for me on the Dome,
a likely place to look for sermons in stones,
but not for grasshopper sermons. A large
and imposing pulpit for so small a preacher.
No danger of weakness in the knees of the
world while Nature can spring such a rat-
tle as this. Even the bear did not express for
me the mountain's wild health and strength
and happiness so tellingly as did this com-
ical little hopper. No cloud of care in his
day, no winter of discontent in sight. To
him every day is a holiday ; and when at
length his sun sets, I fancy he will cuddle
down on the forest floor and die like the
leaves and flowers, and like them leave no
unsightly remains calling for burial.

Sundown, and I must to camp. Good-
night, friends three,- -brown bear, rugged
boulder of energy in groves and gardens
fair as Eden; restless fussy fly with gauzy
wings stirring the air around all the world;
and grasshopper, crisp electric spark of

[ 133 ]

In the Sierra

joy enlivening the massy sublimity of the
mountains like the laugh of a child. Thank
you, thank you all three for your quicken-
ing company. Heaven guide every wing and
leg. Good-night, friends three, good-night.
yuly 22. A fine specimen of the black-
tailed deer went bounding past camp this
morning. A buck with wide spread of
antlers, showing admirable vigor and grace.
Wonderful the beauty, strength, and grace-
ful movements of animals in wildernesses,
cared for by Nature only, when our experi-
ence with domestic animals would lead us
to fear that all the so-called neglected wild
beasts would degenerate. Yet the upshot
of Nature's method of breeding and teach-
ing seems to lead to excellence of every
sort. Deer, like all wild animals, are as clean
as plants. The beauties of their gestures and
attitudes, alert or in repose, surprise yet more
than their bounding exuberant strength.
Every movement and posture is graceful,
the very poetry of manners and motion.

[ 189 ]

My First Summer

Mother Nature is too often spoken of as in
reality no mother at all. Yet how wisely,
sternly, tenderly she loves and looks after
her children in all sorts of weather and
wildernesses. The more I see of deer the
more I admire them as mountaineers. They
make their way into the heart of the
roughest solitudes with smooth reserve of
strength, through dense belts of brush and
forest encumbered with fallen trees and
boulder piles, across canons, roaring streams,
and snow-fields, ever showing forth beauty
and courage. Over nearly all the conti-
nent the deer find homes. In the Florida
savannas and hummocks, in the Canada
woods, in the far north, roaming over
mossy tundras, swimming lakes and rivers
and arms of the sea from island to island
washed with waves, or climbing rocky
mountains, everywhere healthy and able,
adding beauty to every landscape, a
truly admirable creature and great credit
to Nature.

[ 190 ]

In the Sierra

Have been sketching a silver fir that
stands on a granite ridge a few hundred yards

*

MT. CLARK. TOP OF S. DOME. MT. STARR KING

ABIES MAGNIFICA

to the eastward of camp, a fine tree with
a particular snow-storm story to tell. It
is about one hundred feet high, growing

My First Summer

on bare rock, thrusting its roots into a
weathered joint less than an inch wide,
and bulging out to form a base to bear its
weight. The storm came from the north
while it was young and broke it down nearly
to the ground, as is shown by the old, dead,
weather-beaten top leaning out from the
living trunk built up from a new shoot below
the break. The annual rings of the trunk
that have overgrown the dead sapling tell
the year of the storm. Wonderful that a
side branch forming a portion of one of the
level collars that encircle the trunk of this
species (Abies magnified) should bend up-
ward, grow erect, and take the place of the
lost axis to form a new tree.

Many others, pines as well as firs, bear
testimony to the crushing severity of this
particular storm. Trees, some of them fifty
to seventy-five feet high, were bent to the
ground and buried like grass, whole groves
vanishing as if the forest had been cleared
away, leaving not a branch or needle visible

[ 192 ]

In the Sierra

until the spring thaw. Then the more
elastic undamaged saplings rose again, aided
by the wind, some reaching a nearly erect
attitude, others remaining more or less bent,
while those with broken backs endeavored
to specialize a side branch below the break

' It / i --"C

ILLUSTRATING GROWTH OF NEW PINE FROM BRANCH
BELOW THE BREAK OF AXIS OF SNOW-CRUSHED TREE

and make a leader of it to form a new axis of
development. It is as if a man, whose back
was broken or nearly so and who was com-
pelled to go bent, should find a branch
backbone sprouting straight up from below

My First Summer

the break and should gradually develop new
arms and shoulders and head, while the old
damaged portion of his body died.

Grand white cloud mountains and domes
created about noon as usual, ridges and ranges
of endless variety, as if Nature dearly loved
this sort of work, doing it again and again
nearly every day with infinite industry, and
producing beauty that never palls. A few
zigzags of lightning, five minutes' shower,
then a gradual wilting and clearing.

yuly 23. Another midday cloudland,
displaying power and beauty that one never
wearies in beholding, but hopelessly un-
sketchable and untellable. What can poor
mortals say about clouds ? While a descrip-
tion of their huge glowing domes and ridges,
shadowy gulfs and canons, and feather-
edged ravines is being tried, they vanish,
leaving no visible ruins. Nevertheless, these
fleeting sky mountains are as substantial and
significant as the more lasting upheavals of
granite beneath them. Both alike are built

In the Sierra

up and die, and in God's calendar difference
of duration is nothing. We can only dream
about them in wondering, worshiping admi-
ration, happier than we dare tell even to
friends who see farthest in sympathy, glad to
know that not a crystal or vapor particle of
them, hard or soft, is lost; that they sink and
vanish only to rise again and again in higher
and higher beauty. As to our own work, duty,
influence, etc., concerning which so much
fussy pother is made, it will not fail of its
due effect, though, like a lichen on a stone,
we keep silent.

July 24. Clouds at noon occupying
about half the sky gave half an hour of heavy
rain to wash one of the cleanest landscapes in
the world. How well it is washed ! The sea
is hardly less dusty than the ice-burnished
pavements and ridges, domes and canons,
and summit peaks plashed with snow like
waves with foam. How fresh the woods are
and calm after the last films of clouds have
been wiped from the sky! A few minutes

My First Summer

ago every tree was excited, bowing to the
roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their
branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship.
But though to the outer ear these trees are
now silent, their songs never cease. Every
hidden cell is throbbing with music and life,
every fibre thrilling like harp strings, while
incense is ever flowing from the balsam bells
and leaves. No wonder the hills and groves
were God's first temples, and the more they
are cut down and hewn into cathedrals and
churches, the farther off and dimmer seems
the Lord himself. The same may be said of
stone temples. Yonder, to the eastward of
our camp grove, stands one of Nature's cathe-
drals, hewn from the living rock, almost
conventional in form, about tw r o thousand
feet high, nobly adorned with spires and pin-
nacles, thrilling under floods of sunshine as
if alive like a grove-temple, and well named
"Cathedral Peak." Even Shepherd Billy
turns at times to this wonderful mountain
building, though apparently deaf to all stone

[ 196]

In the Sierra

sermons. Snow that refused to melt in fire
would hardly be more wonderful than un-
changing dullness in the rays of God's beauty.
I have been trying to get him to walk to the
brink of Yosemite for a view, offering to
watch the sheep for a day, while he should
enjoy what tourists come from all over the
world to see. But though within a mile of
the famous valley, he will not go to it even
out of mere curiosity. " What," says he, " is
Yosemite but a canon- a lot of rocks a
hole in the ground a place dangerous
about falling into a d--d good place to
keep away from.' ; " But think of the water-
falls, Billy just think of that big stream
we crossed the other day, falling half a mile
through the air think of that, and the
sound it makes. You can hear it now like the
roar of the sea.' : Thus I pressed Yosemite
upon him like a missionary offering the
gospel, but he would have none of it. " I
should be afraid to look over so high a wall/ 3
he said. " It would make my head swim.

[ '97 ]

My First Summer

There is nothing worth seeing anyway, only
rocks, and I see plenty of them here. Tour-
ists that spend their money to see rocks and
falls are fools, that 's all. You can't humbug
me. I 've been in this country too long for
that.' 3 Such souls, I suppose, are asleep,
or smothered and befogged beneath mean
pleasures and cares.

July 25. - - Another cloudland. Some
clouds have an over-ripe decaying look,
watery and bedraggled and drawn out into
wind-torn shreds and patches, giving the
sky a littered appearance ; not so these Si-
erra summer midday clouds. All are beau-
tiful with smooth definite outlines and curves
like those of glacier-polished domes. They
begin to grow about eleven o'clock, and seem
so wonderfully near and clear from this high
camp one is tempted to try to climb them
and trace the streams that pour like cata-
racts from their shadowy fountains. The
rain to which they give birth is often very

heavy, a sort of waterfall as imposing as if

[ 198 ]

In the Sierra

pouring from rock mountains. Never in all
my travels have I found anything more
truly novel and interesting than these mid-
day mountains of the sky, their fine tones
of color, majestic visible growth, and ever-
changing scenery and general effects, though
mostly as well let alone as far as description
goes. I oftentimes think of Shelley's cloud
poem, " I sift the snow on the mountains
below.' 1

July 26. Ramble to the summit of
Mt. Hoffman, eleven thousand feet high,
the highest point in life's journey my feet
have yet touched. And what glorious land-
scapes are about me, new plants, new ani-
mals, new crystals, and multitudes of new
mountains far higher than Hoffman, tower-
ing in glorious array along the axis of the
range, serene, majestic, snow-laden, sun-
drenched, vast domes and ridges shining
below them, forests, lakes, and meadows in
the hollows, the pure blue bell-flower sky
brooding them all, a glory day of admis-

[ 199 ]

My First Summer

sion into a new realm of wonders as if
Nature had wooingly whispered, " Come
higher/ 3 What questions I asked, and how
little I know of all the vast show, and how
eagerly, tremulously hopeful of some day
knowing more, learning the meaning of
these divine symbols crowded together on
this wondrous page.

Mt. Hoffman is the highest part of a ridge
or spur about fourteen miles from the axis
of the main range, perhaps a remnant
brought into relief and isolated by unequal
denudation. The southern slopes shed their
waters into Yosemite Valley by Tenaya and
Dome Creeks, the northern in part into
the Tuolumne River, but mostly into the
Merced by Yosemite Creek. The rock is
mostly granite, with some small piles and
crests rising here and there in picturesque
pillared and castellated remnants of red
metamorphic slates. Both the granite and
slates are divided by joints, making them

separable into blocks like the stones of arti-

[ 200 ]

In the Sierra

ficial masonry, suggesting the Scripture " He
hath builded the mountains. 3 Great banks

'

' 9 I

'

'

W '.^"r .','.' .

J

r '

. '

>. -jaj^rf' "i*

S ^r ,/ r

.^t 1 I

"?

:;
'-

APPROACH OF DOME CREEK TO YOSEMITE

of snow and ice are piled in hollows on the
cool precipitous north side forming the
highest perennial sources of Yosemite Creek.

[ 201 ]

My First Summer

The southern slopes are much more gradual
and accessible. Narrow slot-like gorges
extend across the summit at right angles,
which look like lanes, formed evidently by
the erosion of less resisting beds. They are
usually called " devil's slides," though they
lie far above the region usually haunted
by the devil ; for though we read that he
once climbed an exceeding high mountain,
he cannot be much of a mountaineer, for
his tracks are seldom seen above the timber-
line.

The broad gray summit is barren and
desolate-looking in general views, wasted
by ages of gnawing storms ; but looking
at the surface in detail, one finds it cov-
ered by thousands and millions of charm-
ing plants with leaves and flowers so small
they form no mass of color visible at a
distance of a few hundred yards. Beds of
azure daisies smile confidingly in moist hol-
lows, and along the banks of small rills,

with several species of eriogonum, silky-

[ 202 ]

In the Sierra

leaved ivesia, pentstemon, orthocarpus, and
patches of Primula sujfruticosa, a beautiful
shrubby species. Here also I found bryan-
thus, a charming heathwort covered with
purple flowers and dark green foliage like
heather, and three trees new to me,
a hemlock and two pines. The hemlock
(Tsuga Mertensiana) is the most beautiful
conifer I have ever seen ; the branches and
also the main axis droop in a singularly
graceful way, and the dense foliage covers
the delicate, sensitive, swaying branchlets
all around. It is now in full bloom, and
the flowers, together with thousands of last
season's cones still clinging to the droop-
ing sprays, display wonderful wealth of
color, brown and purple and blue. Gladly
I climbed the first tree I found to revel in
the midst of it. How the touch of the
flowers makes one's flesh tingle ! The pis-
tillate are dark, rich purple, and almost
translucent, the staminate blue, a vivid,
pure tone of blue like the mountain sky,

[ 203 ]

My First Summer

the most uncommonly beautiful of all the
Sierra tree flowers I have seen. How won-
derful that, with all its delicate feminine
grace and beauty of form and dress and
behavior, this lovely tree up here, exposed
to the wildest blasts, has already endured
the storms of centuries of winters !

The two pines also are brave storm-
enduring trees, the mountain pine (Pinus
monticola] and the dwarf pine (Pinus albi-
caulisY The mountain pine is closely related
to the sugar pine, though the cones are only
about four to six inches long. The largest
trees are from five to six feet in diame-
ter at four feet above the ground, the
bark rich brown. Only a few storm-beaten
adventurers approach the summit of the
mountain. The dwarf or white-bark pine
is the species that forms the timber-line,
where it is so completely dwarfed that
one may walk over the top of a bed of
it as over snow-pressed chaparral.

How boundless the day seems as we revel

[ 204 ]

Foliage and Cones of Sierra Hemlock (Tsuga Mertensiand}

In the Sierra

in these storm-beaten sky gardens amid so
vast a congregation of onlooking moun-
tains ! Strange and admirable it is that the
more savage and chilly and storm-chafed
the mountains, the finer the glow on their
faces and the finer the plants they bear.
The myriads of flowers tingeing the moun-
tain-top do not seem to have grown out
of the dry, rough gravel of disintegration,
but rather they appear as visitors, a cloud
of witnesses to Nature's love in what we in
our timid ignorance and unbelief call howl-
ing desert. The surface of the ground, so
dull and forbidding at first sight, besides be-
ing rich in plants, shines and sparkles with
crystals : mica, hornblende, feldspar, quartz,
tourmaline. The radiance in some places
is so great as to be fairly dazzling, keen
lance rays of every color flashing, sparkling
in glorious abundance, joining the plants
in their fine, brave beauty-work, every
crystal, every flower a window opening into
heaven, a mirror reflecting the Creator.

[ 205 ]

My First Summer

From garden to garden, ridge to ridge, I
drifted enchanted, now on my knees gazing
into the face of a daisy, now climbing again
and again among the purple and azure flow-
ers of the hemlocks, now down into the
treasuries of the snow, or gazing afar over
domes and peaks, lakes and woods, and the
billowy glaciated fields of the upper Tuo-
lumne, and trying to sketch them. In the
midst of such beauty, pierced with its rays,
one's body is all one tingling palate. Who
would n't be a mountaineer ! Up here all
the world's prizes seem nothing.

The largest of the many glacier lakes in
sight, and the one with the finest shore
scenery, is Tenaya, about a mile long, with
an imposing mountain dipping its feet into
it on the south side, Cathedral Peak a few
miles above its head, many smooth swell-
ing rock-waves and domes on the north,
and in the distance southward a multitude
of snowy peaks, the fountain-heads of riv-
ers. Lake Hoffman lies shimmering be-

[ 206 ]

In the Sierra

neath my feet, mountain pines around its
shining rim. To the northward the pic-
turesque basin of Yosemite Creek glitters
with lakelets and pools ; but the eye is soon
drawn away from these bright mirror wells,
however attractive, to revel in the glorious
congregation of peaks on the axis of the
range in their robes of snow and light.

Carlo caught an unfortunate woodchuck
when it was running from a grassy spot to
its boulder-pile home one of the hardiest
of the mountain animals. I tried hard to
save him, but in vain. After telling Carlo
that he must be careful not to kill any-
thing, I caught sight, for the first time, of
the curious pika, or little chief hare, that
cuts large quantities of lupines and other
plants and lays them out to dry in the sun
for hay, which it stores in underground
barns to last through the long, snowy win-
ter. Coming upon these plants freshly cut
and lying in handfuls here and there on
the rocks has a startling effect of busy life

[ 207 ]

My First Summer

on the lonely mountain-top. These little
haymakers, endowed with brain stuff some-
thing like our own,- God up here look-
ing after them, what lessons they teach,
how they widen our sympathy !

An eagle soaring above a sheer cliff,
where I suppose its nest is, makes another
striking show of life, and helps to bring
to mind the other people of the so-called sol-
itude, - - deer in the forest caring for their
young ; the strong, well-clad, well-fed bears ;
the lively throng of squirrels ; the blessed
birds, great and small, stirring and sweet-
ening the groves ; and the clouds of happy
insects filling the sky with joyous hum as
part and parcel of the down-pouring sun-
shine. All these come to mind, as well as
the plant people, and the glad streams sing-
ing their way to the sea. But most im-
pressive of all is the vast glowing coun-
tenance of the wilderness in awful, infinite
repose.

Toward sunset, enjoyed a fine run to

[ 208 ]

In the Sierra

camp, down the long south slopes, across
ridges and ravines, gardens and avalanche
gaps, through the firs and chaparral, enjoy-
ing wild excitement and excess of strength,
and so ends a day that will never end.

July 27. Up and away to Lake Te-
naya, another big day, enough for a life-
time. The rocks, the air, everything speak-
ing with audible voice or silent ; joyful,
wonderful, enchanting, banishing weari-
ness and sense of time. No longing for
anything now or hereafter as we go home
into the mountain's heart. The level sun-
beams are touching the fir-tops, every leaf
shining with dew. Am holding an easterly
course, the deep canon of Teriaya Creek on
the right hand, Mt. Hoffman on the left,
and the lake straight ahead about ten miles
distant, the summit of Mt. Hoffman about
three thousand feet above me, Tenaya Creek
four thousand feet below and separated
from the shallow, irregular valley, along
which most of the way lies, by smooth

[ 209 ]

My First Summer

domes and wave-ridges. Many mossy em-
erald bogs, meadows, and gardens in rocky
hollows to wade and saunter through,
and what fine plants they give me, what joy-
ful streams I have to cross, and how many
views are displayed of the Hoffman and
Cathedral Peak masonry, and what a won-
drous breadth of shining granite pavement
to walk over for the first time about the
shores of the lake ! On I sauntered in free-
dom complete; body without weight as far
as I was aware; now wading through starry
parnassia bogs, now through gardens shoul-
der deep in larkspur and lilies, grasses and
rushes, shaking off showers of dew; cross-
ing piles of crystalline moraine boulders,
bright mirror pavements, and cool, cheery
streams going to Yosemite; crossing bryan-
thus carpets and the scoured pathways of
avalanches, and thickets of snow-pressed
ceanothus; then down a broad, majestic
stairway into the ice-sculptured lake-basin.
The snow on the high mountains is melt-

[ 210 ]

/// the Sierra -

ing fast, and the streams are singing bank-
full, swaying softly through the level mead-
ows and bogs, quivering with sun-spangles,
swirling in pot-holes, resting in deep pools,
leaping, shouting in wild, exulting energy
over rough boulder dams, joyful, beautiful
in all their forms. No Sierra landscape that
I have seen holds anything truly dead or
dull, or any trace of what in manufactories
is called rubbish or waste ; everything is
perfectly clean and pure and full of divine
lessons. This quick, inevitable interest at-
taching to everything seems marvelous un-
til the hand of God becomes visible ; then
it seems reasonable that what interests Him
may well interest us. When we try to pick
out anything by itself, we find it hitched
to everything else in the universe. One fan-
cies a heart like our own must be beating
in every crystal and cell, and we feel like
stopping to speak to the plants and animals
as friendly fellow-mountaineers. Nature as
a poet, an enthusiastic workingman, be-

[ 211 ]

My First Summer

comes more and more visible the farther
and higher we go ; for the mountains are
fountains - - beginning places, however re-
lated to sources beyond mortal ken.

I found three kinds of meadows :
(i) Those contained in basins not yet filled
with earth enough to make a dry surface.
They are planted with several species of
carex, and have their margins diversified
with robust flowering plants such as vera-
trum, larkspur, lupine, etc. (2) Those con-
tained in the same sort of basins, once lakes
like the first, but so situated in relation to
the streams that flow through them and
beds of transportable sand, gravel, etc., that
they are now high and dry and well drained.
This dry condition and corresponding dif-
ference in their vegetation may be caused
by no superiority of position, or power of
transporting filling material in the streams
that belong to them, but simply by the
basin being shallow and therefore sooner
filled. They are planted with grasses, mostly

[ 212 ]

In the Sierra

fine, silky, and rather short-leaved, Ca/a-
magrostis and Agrostis being the principal
genera. They form delightfully smooth,
level sods in which one finds two or three
species of gentian and as many of purple
and yellow orthocarpus, violet, vaccinium,
kalmia, bryanthus, and lonicera. (3) Mead-
ows hanging on ridge and mountain slopes,
not in basins at all, but made and held in
place by masses of boulders and fallen trees,
which, forming dams one above another in
close succession on small, outspread, chan-
nelless streams, have collected soil enough
for the growth of grasses, carices, and many
flowering plants, and being kept well wa-
tered, without being subject to currents
sufficiently strong to carry them away, a
hanging or sloping meadow is the result.
Their surfaces are seldom so smooth as the
others, being roughened more or less by
the projecting tops of the dam rocks or
logs ; but at a little distance this rough-
ness is not noticed, and the effect is very

[ 213 ]

My First Summer

striking, bright green, fluent, down-sweep-
ing flowery ribbons on gray slopes. The
broad shallow streams these meadows be-
long to are mostly derived from banks of
snow and because the soil is well drained
in some places, while in others the dam
rocks are packed close and caulked with
bits of wood and leaves, making boggy
patches; the vegetation, of course, is cor-
respondingly varied. I saw patches of wil-
low, bryanthus, and a fine show of lilies
on some of them, not forming a margin,
but scattered about among the carex and
grass. Most of these meadows are now in
their prime. How wonderful must be the
temper of the elastic leaves of grasses and
sedges to make curves so perfect and fine,
Tempered a little harder, they would stand
erect, stiff and bristly, like strips of metal ,
a little softer, and every leaf would lie flat,
And what fine painting and tinting there
is on the glumes and pales, stamens and
feathery pistils. Butterflies colored like the

[ 214 ]

In the Sierra

flowers waver above them in wonderful
profusion, and many other beautiful winged
people, numbered and known and loved
only by the Lord, are waltzing together
high over head, seemingly in pure play and
hilarious enjoyment of their little sparks
of life. How wonderful they are ! How do
they get a living, and endure the weather ?
How are their little bodies, with muscles,
nerves, organs, kept warm and jolly in such
admirable exuberant health ? Regarded only
as mechanical inventions, how wonderful
they are ! Compared with these, Godlike
man's greatest machines are as nothing.

Most of the sandy gardens on moraines
are in prime beauty like the meadows,
though some on the north sides of rocks
and beneath groves of sapling pines have
not yet bloomed. On sunny sheets of crys-
tal soil along the slopes of the Hoffman
mountains, I saw extensive patches of ive-
sia and purple gilia with scarce a green leaf,
making fine clouds of color. Ribes bushes,

[ 215 ]

My First Summer

vaccinium, and kalmia, now in flower,
make beautiful rugs and borders along the
banks of the streams. Shaggy beds of dwarf
oak (<j%uercuscbrysolepts,\zr. vaccmifo/ia) over
which one may walk are common on rocky
moraines, yet this is the same species as the
large live oak seen near Brown's Flat. The
most beautiful of the shrubs is the purple-
flowered bryanthus, here making glorious
carpets at an elevation of nine thousand feet.
The principal tree for the first mile or
two from camp is the magnificent silver fir,
which reaches perfection here both in size
and form of individual trees and in the mode
of grouping in groves with open spaces be-
tween. So trim and tasteful are these sil-
very, spiry groves one would fancy they
must have been placed in position by some
master landscape gardener, their regularity
seeming almost conventional. But Nature
is the only gardener able to do work so
fine. A few noble specimens two hundred
feet high occupy central positions in the

[ 216 ]

Magnificent Silver Firs (Mr. Muir in foreground}

In the Sierra

groups with younger trees around them ;
and outside of these another circle of yet
smaller ones, the whole arranged like taste-
fully symmetrical bouquets, every tree fitting
nicely the place assigned to it as if made es-
pecially for it ; small roses and eriogonums
are usually found blooming on the open
spaces about the groves, forming charm-
ing pleasure grounds. Higher, the firs grad-
ually become smaller and less perfect, many
showing double summits, indicating storm
stress. Still, where good moraine soil is
found, even on the rim of the lake-basin,
specimens one hundred and fifty feet in
height and five feet in diameter occur nearly
nine thousand feet above the sea. The sap-
lings, I find, are mostly bent with the crush-
ing weight of the winter snow, which at this
elevation must be at least eight or ten feet
deep, judging by marks on the trees ; and
this depth of compacted snow is heavy
enough to bend and bury young trees twenty
or thirty feet in height and hold them

[ 217 ]

My First Summer

down for four or five months. Some are
broken ; the others spring up when the snow
melts and at length attain a size that en-
ables them to withstand the snow pressure.
Yet even in trees five feet thick the traces
of this early discipline are still plainly to
be seen in their curved insteps, and fre-
quently in old dried saplings protruding
from the trunk, partially overgrown by the
new axis developed from a branch below
the break. Yet through all this stress the
forest is maintained in marvelous beauty.

Beyond the silver firs I find the two-
leaved pine (Pinus contort a , var. Murray ana]
forms the bulk of the forest up to an ele-
vation of ten thousand feet or more, the
highest timber-belt of the Sierra. I saw a
specimen nearly five feet in diameter grow-
ing on deep, well-watered soil at an ele-
vation of about nine thousand feet. The
form of this species varies very much with
position, exposure, soil, etc. On stream-
banks, where it is closely planted, it is very

[ 218 ]

In the Sierra

slender ; some specimens seventy-five feet
high do not exceed five inches in diameter
at the ground, but the ordinary form, as far
as I have seen, is well proportioned. The
average diameter when full grown at this
elevation is about twelve or fourteen inches,
height forty or fifty feet, the straggling
branches bent up at the end, the bark thin
and bedraggled with amber-colored resin.
The pistillate flowers form little crimson
rosettes a fourth of an inch in diameter
on the ends of the branchlets, mostly hid-
den in the leaf-tassels ; the staminate are
about three eighths of an inch in dia-
meter, sulphur-yellow, in showy clusters,
giving a remarkably rich effect, a brave,
hardy mountaineer pine, growing cheer-
ily on rough beds of avalanche boulders
and joints of rock pavements, as well as
in fertile hollows, standing up to the
waist in snow every winter for centuries,
facing a thousand storms and blooming
every year in colors as bright as those

[ 219 ]

My First Summer

worn by the sun-drenched trees of the
tropics.

A still hardier mountaineer is the Si-
erra juniper (Juniperus occidentalis^ growing
mostly on domes and ridges and glacier
pavements. A thickset, sturdy, picturesque
highlander, seemingly content to live for
more than a score of centuries on sunshine
and snow ; a truly wonderful fellow, dogged
endurance expressed in every feature, last-
ing about as long as the granite he stands
on. Some are nearly as broad as high. I
saw one on the shore of the lake nearly
ten feet in diameter, and many six to eight
feet. The bark, cinnamon-colored, flakes
off in long ribbon-like strips with a satiny
lustre. Surely the most enduring of all tree
mountaineers, it never seems to die a natu-
ral death, or even to fall after it has been
killed. If protected from accidents, it would
perhaps be immortal. I saw some that had
withstood an avalanche from snowy Mt.
Hoffman cheerily putting out new branches,

[ 220 ]

In the Sierra

as if repeating, like Grip, "Never say die/ 1
Some were simply standing on the pave-
ment where no fissure more than half an
inch wide offered a hold for its roots. The
common height for these rock-dwellers

JUNIPERS IN TENAYA CANON

is from ten to twenty feet ; most of the
old ones have broken tops, and are mere
stumps, with a few tufted branches, form-
ing picturesque brown pillars on bare pave-
ments, with plenty of elbow-room and a

[ 221 ]

My First Summer

clear view in every direction. On good
moraine soil it reaches a height of from
forty to sixty feet, with dense gray foliage.
The rings of the trunk are very thin, eighty
to an inch of diameter in some specimens
I examined. Those ten feet in diameter
must be very old thousands of years.
Wish I could live, like these junipers, on
sunshine and snow, and stand beside them
on the shore of Lake Tenaya for a thousand
years. How much I should see, and how
delightful it would be ! Everything in the
mountains would find me and come to me,
and everything from the heavens like light.
The lake was named for one of the chiefs
of the Yosemite tribe. Old Tenaya is said
to have been a good Indian to his tribe.
When a company of soldiers followed his
band into Yosemite to punish them for
cattle-stealing and other crimes, they fled
to this lake by a trail that leads out of the
upper end of the valley, early in the spring,
while the snow was still deep ; but being

[ 222 ]

In the Sierra

pursued, they lost heart and surrendered.
A fine monument the old man has in this
bright lake, and likely to last a long time,
though lakes die as well as Indians, being
gradually filled with detritus carried in by
the feeding streams, and to some extent
also by snow avalanches and rain and wind.
A considerable portion of the Tenaya basin
is already changed into a forested flat and
meadow at the upper end, where the main
tributary enters from Cathedral Peak. Two
other tributaries come from the Hoffman
Range. The outlet flows westward through
Tenaya Canon to join the Merced River in
Yosemite. Scarce a handful of loose soil is
to be seen on the north shore. All is bare,
shining granite, suggesting the Indian name
of the lake, Pywiack, meaning shining rock.
The basin seems to have been slowly ex-
cavated by the ancient glaciers, a marvel-
ous work requiring countless thousands of
years. On the south side an imposing moun-
tain rises from the water's edge to a height

[ 223 ]

My First Summer

of three thousand feet or more, feathered
with hemlock and pine ; and huge shining
domes on the east, over the tops of which
the grinding, wasting, molding glacier must
have swept as the wind does to-day.

July 28.- -No cloud mountains, only
curly cirrus wisps scarce perceptible, and the
want of thunder to strike the noon hour
seems strange, as if the Sierra clock had
stopped. Have been studying the magnified
fir, - - measured one near two hundred and
forty feet high, the tallest I have yet seen.
This species is the most symmetrical of all
conifers, but though gigantic in size it sel-
dom lives more than four or five hundred
years. Most of the trees die from the attacks
of a fungus at the age of two or three cen-
turies. This dry-rot fungus perhaps enters
the trunk by way of the stumps of limbs
broken off" by the snow that loads the broad
palmate branches. The younger specimens
are marvels of symmetry, straight and erect
as a plumb-line, their branches in regular

[ 224 ]

In the Sierra

level whorls of five mostly, each branch as
exact in its divisions as a fern frond, and
thickly covered by the leaves, making a
rich plush over all the tree, excepting only
the trunk and a small portion of the main
limbs. The leaves turn upward, especially
on the branchlets, and are stiff and sharp,
pointed on all the upper portion of the
tree. They remain on the tree about eight
or ten years, and as the growth is rapid it
is not rare to find the leaves still in place
on the upper part of the axis where it is
three to four inches in diameter, wide apart
of course, and their spiral arrangement beau-
tifully displayed. The leaf-scars are con-
spicuous for twenty years or more, but
there is a good deal of variation in different
trees as to the thickness and sharpness of
the leaves.

After the excursion to Mt. Hoffman I
had seen a complete cross-section of the
Sierra forest, and I find that Abies magnified
is the most symmetrical tree of all the

[ 225 ]

My First Summer

noble coniferous company. The cones are
grand affairs, superb in form, size, and
color, cylindrical, stand erect on the upper
branches like casks, and are from five to
eight inches in length by three or four in
diameter, greenish gray, and covered with
fine down which has a silvery lustre in the
sunshine, and their brilliance is augmented
by beads of transparent balsam which seems
to have been poured over each cone, bring-
ing to mind the old ceremonies of anoint-
ing with oil. If possible, the inside of the
cone is more beautiful than the outside; the
scales, bracts, and seed wings are tinted
with the loveliest rosy purple with a bright
lustrous iridescence ; the seeds, three fourths
of an inch long, are dark brown. When
the cones are ripe the scales and bracts fall
off, setting the seeds free to fly to their
predestined places, while the dead spike-
like axes are left on the branches for many
years to mark the positions of the vanished
cones, excepting those cut off when green

[ 226 ]

In the Sierra

by the Douglas squirrel. How he gets his
teeth under the broad bases of the sessile
cones, I don't know. Climbing these trees
on a sunny day to visit the growing cones
and to gaze over the tops of the forest is
one of my best enjoyments.

July 29. Bright, cool, exhilarating.
Clouds about .05. Another glorious day of
rambling, sketching, and universal enjoy-
ment.

July 30. Clouds .20, but the regular
shower did not reach us, though thunder
was heard a few miles off striking the noon
hour. Ants, flies, and mosquitoes seem to en-
joy this fine climate. A few house flies have
discovered our camp. The Sierra mosqui-
toes are courageous and of good size, some
of them measuring nearly an inch from tip
of sting to tip of folded wings. Though
less abundant than in most wildernesses,
they occasionally make quite a hum and
stir, and pay but little attention to time or
place. They sting anywhere, any time of

[ 227 ]

My First Summer

day, wherever they can find anything worth
while, until they are themselves stung by
frost. The large jet-black ants are only
ticklish and troublesome when one is lying
down under the trees. Noticed a borer
drilling a silver fir. Ovipositor about an
inch and a half in length, polished and
straight like a needle. When not in use,
it is folded back in a sheath, which ex-
tends straight behind like the legs of a
crane in flying. This drilling, I suppose, is
to save nest building, and the after care of
feeding the young. Who would guess that
in the brain of a fly so much knowledge
could find lodgment ? How do they know
that their eggs will hatch in such holes,
or, after they hatch, that the soft, help-
less grubs will find the right sort of nour-
ishment in silver fir sap? This domestic
arrangement calls to mind the curious fam-
ily of gallflies. Each species seems to know
what kind of plant will respond to the irri-
tation or stimulus of the puncture it makes

[ 228 ]

In the Sierra

and the eggs it lays, in forming a growth
that not only answers for a nest and home
but also provides food for the young. Prob-
ably these gallflies make mistakes at times,
like anybody else ; but when they do, there
is simply a failure of that particular brood,
while enough to perpetuate the species do
find the proper plants and nourishment.
Many mistakes of this kind might be made
without being discovered by us. Once a
pair of wrens made the mistake of build-
ing a nest in the sleeve of a workman's
coat, which was called for at sundown,
much to the consternation and discomfiture
of the birds. Still the marvel remains that
any of the children of such small people as
gnats and mosquitoes should escape their
own and their parents' mistakes, as well as
the vicissitudes of the weather and hosts
of enemies, and come forth in full vigor
and perfection to enjoy the sunny world.
When we think of the small creatures that

are visible, we are led to think of many that

[229 ]

My First Summer

are smaller still and lead us on and on into
infinite mystery.

July 31.- - Another glorious day, the air
as delicious to the lungs as nectar to the
tongue ; indeed the body seems one palate,
and tingles equally throughout. Cloudiness
about .05, but our ordinary shower has not
yet reached us, though I hear thunder in
the distance.

The cheery little chipmunk, so common
about Brown's Flat, is common here also,
and perhaps other species. In their light,
airy habits they recall the familiar species
of the Eastern States, which we admired
in the oak openings of Wisconsin as they
skimmed along the zigzag rail fences. These
Sierra chipmunks are more arboreal and
squirrel-like. I first noticed them on the
lower edge of the coniferous belt, where the
Sabine and yellow pines meet, exceed-
ingly interesting little fellows, full of odd,
funny ways, and without being true squir-
rels, have most of their accomplishments

[ 230 ]

In the Sierra

without their aggressive quarrelsomeness.
I never weary watching them as they frisk
about in the bushes gathering seeds and
berries, like song sparrows poising daintily
on slender twigs, and making even less stir
than most birds of the same size. Few
of the Sierra animals interest me more ;
they are so able, gentle, confiding, and
beautiful, they take one's heart, and get
themselves adopted as darlings. Though
weighing hardly more than field mice,
they are laborious collectors of seeds, nuts,
and cones, and are therefore well fed, but
never in the least swollen with fat or
lazily full. On the contrary, of their frisky,
birdlike liveliness there is no end. They
have a great variety of notes correspond-
ing with their movements, some sweet and
liquid, like water dripping with tinkling
sounds into pools. They seem dearly to
love teasing a dog, coming frequently al-
most within reach, then frisking away with
lively chipping, like sparrows, beating time

[ 231 ]

My First Summer

to their music with their tails, which at
each chip describe half circles from side
to side. Not even the Douglas squirrel is
surer-footed or more fearless. I have seen
them running about on sheer precipices of
the Yosemite walls seemingly holding on
with as little effort as flies, and as uncon-
scious of danger, where, if the slightest slip
were made, they would have fallen two
or three thousand feet. How fine it would
be could we mountaineers climb these tre-
mendous cliffs with the same sure grip ! The
venture I made the other day for a view
of the Yosemite Fall, and which tried my
nerves so sorely, this little Tamias would
have made for an ear of grass.

The woodchuck (Arctomys monax) of the
bleak mountain-tops is a very different sort
of mountaineer the most bovine of ro-
dents, a heavy eater, fat, aldermanic in bulk
and fairly bloated, in his high pastures, like
a cow in a clover field. One woodchuck
would outweigh a hundred chipmunks, and

[ 232 ]

In the Sierra

yet he is by no means a dull animal. In the
midst of what we regard as storm-beaten
desolation he pipes and whistles right cheer-
ily, and enjoys long life in hisskyland homes.
His burrow is made in disintegrated rocks
or beneath large boulders. Coming out of
his den in the cold hoarfrost mornings, he
takes a sun-bath on some favorite flat-topped
rock, then goes to breakfast in garden hol-
lows, eats grass and flowers until comfort-
ably swollen, then goes a-visiting to fight
and play. How long a woodchuck lives in
this bracing air I don't know, but some of
them are rusty and gray like lichen-covered
boulders.

August i. A grand cloudland and five-
minute shower, refreshing the blessed wil-
derness, already so fragrant and fresh, steep-
ing the black meadow mold and dead leaves
like tea.

The waycup, or flicker, so familiar to
every boy in the old Middle West States,
is one of the most common of the wood-

[ 233 ]

My First Summer

peckers hereabouts, and makes one feel at
home. I can see no difference in plumage
or habits from the Eastern species, though
the climate here is so different, - - a fine,
brave, confiding, beautiful bird. The robin,
too, is here, with all his familiar notes and
gestures, tripping daintily on open garden
spots and high meadows. Over all America
he seems to be at home, moving from the
plains to the mountains and from north to
south, back and forth, up and down, with
the march of the seasons and food supply.
How admirable the constitution and tem-
per of this brave singer, keeping in cheery
health over so vast and varied a range !
Oftentimes, as I wander through these sol-
emn woods, awe-stricken and silent, I hear
the reassuring voice of this fellow wanderer
ringing out, sweet and clear, " Fear not !
fear not ! 3

The mountain quail (Oreortyx ricta) I
often meet in my walks, a small brown
partridge with a very long, slender, orna-

[ 234 ]

In the Sierra

mental crest worn jauntily like a feather
in a boy's cap, giving it a very marked
appearance. This species is considerably
larger than the valley quail, so common
on the hot foothills. They seldom alight
in trees, but love to wander in flocks of
from five or six to twenty through the
ceanothus and manzanita thickets and over
open, dry meadows and rocks of the ridges
where the forest is less dense or wanting,
uttering a low clucking sound to enable
them to keep together. When disturbed
they rise with a strong birr of wing-beats,
and scatter as if exploded to a distance of
a quarter of a mile or so. After the danger
is past they call one another together with
a louder piping note, Nature's beautiful
mountain chickens. I have not yet found
their nests. The young of this season are
already hatched and away, - - new broods
of happy wanderers half as large as their
parents. I wonder how they live through
the long winters, when the ground is snow-

[235 ]

My First Summer

covered ten feet deep. They must go down
towards the lower edge of the forest, like
the deer, though I have not heard of them
there.

The blue, or dusky, grouse is also com-
mon here. They like the deepest and closest
fir woods, and when disturbed, burst from
the branches of the trees with a strong,
loud whir of wing-beats, and vanish in a
wavering, silent slide, without moving a
feather, a stout, beautiful bird about the
size of the prairie chicken of the old west,
spending most of the time in the trees,
excepting the breeding season, when it
keeps to the ground. The young are now
able to fly. When scattered by man or dog,
they keep still until the danger is supposed
to be past, then the mother calls them to-
gether. The chicks can hear the call a dis-
tance of several hundred yards, though it
is not loud. Should the young be unable
to fly, the mother feigns desperate lame-
ness or death to draw one away, throwing

[ 236 ]

In the Sierra

herself at one's feet within two or three
yards, rolling over on her back, kicking and
gasping, so as to deceive man or beast. They
are said to stay all the year in the woods
hereabouts, taking shelter in dense tufted
branches of fir and yellow pine during snow-
storms, and feeding on the young buds of
these trees. Their legs are feathered down
to their toes, and I have never heard of
their suffering in any sort of weather. Able
to live on pine and fir buds, they are for-
ever independent in the matter of food,
which troubles so many of us and controls
our movements. Gladly, if I could, I would
live forever on pine buds, however full of
turpentine and pitch, for the sake of this
grand independence. Just to think of our
sufferings last month merely for grist-mill
flour. Man seems to have more difficulty
in gaining food than any other of the Lord's
creatures. For many in towns it is a con-
suming, life-long struggle ; for others, the
danger of coming to want is so great, the

[ 237 ]

My First Summer

deadly habit of endless hoarding for the fu-
ture is formed, which smothers all real life,
and is continued long after every reasonable
need has been over-supplied.

On Mt. Hoffman I saw a curious dove-
colored bird that seemed half woodpecker,
half magpie or crow. It screams something
like a crow, but flies like a woodpecker,
and has a long, straight bill, with which I
saw it opening the cones of the mountain
and white-barked pines. It seems to keep
to the heights, though no doubt it comes
down for shelter during winter, if not for
food. So far as food is concerned, these
bird-mountaineers, I guess, can glean auts
enough, even in winter, from the different
kinds of conifers; for always there are a
few that have been unable to fly out of
the cones and remain for hungry winter
gleaners.

August 2.- Clouds and showers, about
the same as yesterday. Sketching all day on
the North Dome until four or five o'clock

[ 238 ]

In the Sierra

in the afternoon, when, as I was busily
employed thinking only of the glorious Yo-
semite landscape, trying to draw every tree
and every line and feature of the rocks, I
was suddenly, and without warning, pos-
sessed with the notion that my friend, Pro-
fessor J. D. Butler, of the State University
of Wisconsin, was below me in the valley,
and I jumped up full of the idea of meet-
ing him, with almost as much startling ex-
citement as if he had suddenly touched me
to make me look up. Leaving my work
without the slightest deliberation, I ran
down the western slope of the Dome and
along the brink of the valley wall, looking
for a way to the bottom, until I came to a
side canon, which, judging by its apparently
continuous growth of trees and bushes, I
thought might afford a practical way into
the valley, and immediately began to make
the descent, late as it was, as if drawn irre-
sistibly. But after a little, common sense
stopped me and explained that it would be

[ 239 ]

My First Summer

long after dark ere I could possibly reach
the hotel, that the visitors would be asleep,
that nobody would know me, that I had
no money in my pockets, and moreover
was without a coat. I therefore compelled
myself to stop, and finally succeeded in rea-
soning myself out of the notion of seeking
my friend in the dark, whose presence I
only felt in a strange, telepathic way. I suc-
ceeded in dragging myself back through the
woods to camp, never for a moment waver-
ing, however, in my determination to go
down to him next morning. This I think
is the most unexplainable notion that ever
struck me. Had some one whispered in my
ear while I sat on the Dome, where I had
spent so many days, that Professor Butler
was in the valley, I could not have been
more surprised and startled. When I was
leaving the university he said, " Now, John,
I want to hold you in sight and watch your
career. Promise to write me at least once
a year.' I received a letter from him in

[ 240 ]

In the Sierra

July, at our first camp in the Hollow, writ-
ten in May, in which he said that he might
possibly visit California some time this sum-
mer, and therefore hoped to meet me. But
inasmuch as he named no meeting-place,
and gave no directions as to the course he
would probably follow, and as I should be
in the wilderness all summer, I had not the
slightest hope of seeing him, and all thought
of the matter had vanished from my mind
until this afternoon, when he seemed to be
wafted bodily almost against my face. Well,
to-morrow I shall see ; for, reasonable or
unreasonable, I feel I must go.

August 3 . Had a wonderful day. Found
Professor Butler as the compass-needle finds
the pole. So last evening's telepathy, tran-
scendental revelation, or whatever else it
may be called, was true ; for, strange to
say, he had just entered the valley by way
of the Coulterville Trail and was coming
up the valley past El Capitan when his
presence struck me. Had he then looked

[ 241 ]

My First Summer

toward the North Dome with a good glass
when it first came in sight, he might have
seen me jump up from my work and run
toward him. This seems the one well-
defined marvel of my life of the kind
called supernatural ; for, absorbed in glad
Nature, spirit-rappings, second sight, ghost
stories, etc., have never interested me since
boyhood, seeming comparatively useless
and infinitely less wonderful than Nature's
open, harmonious, songful, sunny, every-day
beauty.

This morning, when I thought of having
to appear among tourists at a hotel, I was
troubled because I had no suitable clothes,
and at best am desperately bashful and shy.
I was determined to go, however, to see
my old friend after two years among stran-
gers ; got on a clean pair of overalls, a cash-
mere shirt, and a sort of jacket, the
best my camp wardrobe afforded, tied
my note-book on my belt, and strode away
on my strange journey, followed by Carlo.

[ 242 ]

In the Sierra

I made my way through the gap discov-
ered last evening, which proved to be In-
dian Canon. There was no trail in it, and
the rocks and brush were so rough that
Carlo frequently called me back to help
him down precipitous places. Emerging
from the canon shadows, I found a man
making hay on one of the meadows, and
asked him whether Professor Butler was
in the valley. "I don't know," he replied ;
"but you can easily find out at the hotel.
There are but few visitors in the valley
just now. A small party came in yester-
day afternoon, and I heard some one called
Professor Butler, or Butterfield, or some
name like that.' :

In front of the gloomy hotel I found a
tourist party adjusting their fishing tackle.
They all stared at me in silent wonder-
ment, as if I had been seen dropping down
through the trees from the clouds, mostly,
I suppose, on account of my strange garb.
Inquiring for the office, I was told it was

[ 243 ]

My First Summer

locked, and that the landlord was away,
but I might find the landlady, Mrs. Hutch-
ings, in the parlor. I entered in a sad state
of embarrassment, and after I had waited in
the big, empty room and knocked at several
doors the landlady at length appeared, and
in reply to my question said she rather
thought Professor Butler was in the val-
ley, but to make sure, she would bring the
register from the office. Among the names
of the last arrivals I soon discovered the
Professor's familiar handwriting, at the sight
of which bashfulness vanished ; and having
learned that his party had gone up the val-
ley, probably to the Vernal and Nevada
Falls, I pushed on in glad pursuit, my
heart now sure of its prey. In less than an
hour I reached the head of the Nevada
Canon at the Vernal Fall, and just out-
side of the spray discovered a distinguished-
looking gentleman, who, like everybody else
I have seen to-day, regarded me curiously
as I approached. When I made bold to in-

[ 244 ]

In the Sierra

quire if he knew where Professor Butler
was, he seemed yet more curious to know
what could possibly have happened that re-
quired a messenger for the Professor, and
instead of answering my question he asked
with military sharpness, " Who wants him ? "
"I want him," I replied with equal sharp-
ness. "Why? Do you know him ? " "Yes,'*
I said. "Do you know him?' Astonished
that any one in the mountains could pos-
sibly know Professor Butler and find him
as soon as he had reached the valley, he
came down to meet the strange moun-
taineer on equal terms, and courteously re-
plied, " Yes, I know Professor Butler very
well. I am General Alvord, and we were
fellow students in Rutland, Vermont, long
ago, when we were both young.' 1 " But
where is he now ? ' I persisted, cutting short
his story. "He has gone beyond the falls
with a companion, to try to climb that
big rock, the top of which you see from
here.' ! His guide now volunteered the in-

[ 245 ]

My First Summer

formation that it was the Liberty Cap Pro-
fessor Butler and his companion had gone
to climb, and that if I waited at the head
of the fall I should be sure to find them
on their way down. I therefore climbed
the ladders alongside the Vernal Fall, and
was pushing forward, determined to go to
the top of Liberty Cap rock in my hurry,
rather than wait, if I should not meet my
friend sooner. So heart-hungry at times
may one be to see a friend in the flesh,
however happily full and care-free one's
life may be. I had gone but a short dis-
tance, however, above the brow of the Ver-
nal Fall when I caught sight of him in
the brush and rocks, half erect, groping
his way, his sleeves rolled up, vest open,
hat in his hand, evidently very hot and
tired. When he saw me coming he sat
down on a boulder to wipe the perspi-
ration from his brow and neck, and taking
me for one of the valley guides, he in-
quired the way to the fall ladders. I pointed

[ 246 ]

In the Sierra

out the path marked with little piles of
stones, on seeing which he called his com-
panion, saying that the way was found ;
but he did not yet recognize me. Then I

stood directly in front of him, looked him

j

in the face, and held out my hand. He
thought I was offering to assist him in
rising. "Never mind," he said. Then I said,
"Professor Butler, don't you know me?'
"I think not,'' he replied; but catching
my eye, sudden recognition followed, and
astonishment that I should have found him
just when he was lost in the brush and
did not know that I was within hundreds
of miles of him. "John Muir, John Muir,
where have you come from ? ' Then I told
him the story of my feeling his presence
when he entered the valley last evening,
when he was four or five miles distant, as
I sat sketching on the North Dome. This,
of course, only made him wonder the more.
Below the foot of the Vernal Fall the guide
was waiting with his saddle-horse, and I

2 47

My First Summer

walked along the trail, chatting all the way
back to the hotel, talking of school days,
friends in Madison, of the students, how
each had prospered, etc., ever and anon
gazing at the stupendous rocks about us,
now growing indistinct in the gloaming,
and again quoting from the poets, a rare
ramble.

It was late ere we reached the hotel, and
General Alvord was waiting the Professor's
arrival for dinner. When I was introduced
he seemed yet more astonished than the
Professor at my descent from cloudland and
going straight to my friend without know-
ing in any ordinary way that he was even
in California. They had come on direct
from the East, had not yet visited any of
their friends in the state, and considered
themselves undiscoverable. As we sat at
dinner, the General leaned back in his
chair, and looking down the table, thus
introduced me to the dozen guests or so,
including the staring fisherman mentioned

[ 248 ]

In the Sierra

above : " This man, you know, came down
out of these huge, trackless mountains, you
know, to find his friend Professor Butler
here, the very day he arrived ; and how did
he know he was here ? He just felt him, he
says. This is the queerest case of Scotch far-
sightedness I ever heard of," etc., etc. While
my friend quoted Shakespeare : "'More
things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than
are dreamt of in your philosophy," "As the
sun, ere he has risen, sometimes paints his
image in the firmament, e'en so the shadows
of events precede the events, and in to-day
already walks to-morrow.'

Had a long conversation, after dinner,
over Madison days. The Professor wants
me to promise to go with him, sometime,
on a camping trip in the Hawaiian Islands,
while I tried to get him to go back with
me to camp in the high Sierra. But he
says, " Not now." He must not leave the
General ; and I was surprised to learn they
are to leave the valley to-morrow or next

2 49

My First Summer

day. I 'm glad I 'm not great enough to be
missed in the busy world.

August 4. It seemed strange to sleep
in a paltry hotel chamber after the spacious
magnificence and luxury of the starry sky
and silver fir grove. Bade farewell to my
friend and the General. The old soldier
was very kind, and an interesting talker.
He told me long stories of the Florida
Seminole war, in which he took part, and
invited me to visit him in Omaha. Calling
Carlo, I scrambled home through the In-
dian Canon gate, rejoicing, pitying the poor
Professor and General, bound by clocks,
almanacs, orders, duties, etc., and compelled
to dwell with lowland care and dust and
din, where Nature is covered and her voice
smothered, while the poor, insignificant
wanderer enjoys the freedom and glory of
God's wilderness.

Apart from the human interest of my
visit to-day, I greatly enjoyed Yosemite,
which I had visited only once before,

[ 250 ]

In the Sierra

having spent eight days last spring in ram-
bling amid its rocks and waters. Wherever
we go in the mountains, or indeed in any
of God's wild fields, we find more than we
seek. Descending four thousand feet in a
few hours, we enter a new world, - cli-
mate, plants, sounds, inhabitants, and scenery
all new or changed. Near camp the gold-
cup oak forms sheets of chaparral, on top
of which we may make our beds. Going
down the Indian Canon we observe this lit-
tle bush changing by regular gradations to
a large bush, to a small tree, and then larger,
until on the rocky taluses near the bottom
of the valley we find it developed into a
broad, wide-spreading, gnarled, picturesque
tree from four to eight feet in diameter,
and forty or fifty feet high. Innumerable are
the forms of water displayed. Every gliding
reach, cascade, and fall has characters of
its own. Had a good view of the Vernal
and Nevada, two of the main falls of the
valley, less than a mile apart, and offering

[ 251 ]

My First Summer

striking differences in voice, form, color,
etc. The Vernal, four hundred feet high
and about seventy-five or eighty feet wide,
drops smoothly over a round-lipped preci-
pice and forms a superb apron of em-
broidery, green and white, slightly folded
and fluted, maintaining this form nearly to
the bottom, where it is suddenly veiled in
quick-flying billows of spray and mist, in
which the afternoon sunbeams play with
ravishing beauty of rainbow colors. The
Nevada is white from its first appearance
as it leaps out into the freedom of the air.
At the head it presents a twisted appear-
ance, by an overfolding of the current from
striking on the side of its channel just be-
fore the first free outbounding leap is made.
About two thirds of the way down, the
hurrying throng of comet-shaped masses
glance on an inclined part of the face of
the precipice and are beaten into yet whiter
foam, greatly expanded, and sent bounding
outward, making an indescribably glorious

L 2 52

In the Sierra

show, especially when the afternoon sun-
shine is pouring into it. In this fall
one of the most wonderful in the world
the water does not seem to be under
the dominion of ordinary laws, but rather
as if it were a living creature, full of the
strength of the mountains and their huge,
wild joy.

From beneath heavy throbbing blasts of
spray the broken river is seen emerging
in ragged boulder-chafed strips. These are
speedily gathered into a roaring torrent,
showing that the young river is still glo-
riously alive. On it goes, shouting, roar-
ing, exulting in its strength, passes through
a gorge with sublime display of energy,
then suddenly expands on a gently inclined
pavement, down which it rushes in thin
sheets and folds of lace-work into a quiet
pool, "Emerald Pool,' 3 as it is called, -
a stopping-place, a period separating two
grand sentences. Resting here long enough
to part with its foam-bells and gray mix-

[ 253 ]

My First Summer

tures of air, it glides quietly to the verge
of the Vernal precipice in a broad sheet
and makes its new display in the Vernal
Fall ; then more rapids and rock tossings
down the canon, shaded by live oak, Doug-
las spruce, fir, maple, and dogwood. It re-
ceives the Illilouette tributary, and makes
a long sweep out into the level, sun-filled
valley to join the other streams which,
like itself, have danced and sung their way
down from snowy heights to form the
main Merced,- -the river of Mercy. But
of this there is no end, and life, when one
thinks of it, is so short. Never mind, one
day in the midst of these divine glories is
well worth living and toiling and starving
for.

Before parting with Professor Butler he
gave me a book, and I gave him one of
my pencil sketches for his little son Henry,
who is a favorite of mine. He used to make
many visits to my room when I was a
student. Never shall I forget his patriotic

[ 254 ] -

In the Sierra

speeches for the Union, mounted on a tall
stool, when he was only six years old.

It seems strange that visitors to Yosemite
should be so little influenced by its novel
grandeur, as if their eyes were bandaged
and their ears stopped. Most of those I saw
yesterday were looking down as if wholly
unconscious of anything going on about
them, while the sublime rocks were trem-
bling with the tones of the mighty chanting
congregation of waters gathered from all
the mountains round about, making music
that might draw angels out of heaven.
Yet respectable-looking, even wise-looking
people were fixing bits of worms on bent
pieces of wire to catch trout. Sport they
called it. Should church-goers try to pass
the time fishing in baptismal fonts while
dull sermons were being preached, the
so-called sport might not be so bad ; but
to play in the Yosemite temple, seek-
ing pleasure in the pain of fishes strug-
gling for their lives, while God himself is

[255 ]

My First Summer

preaching his sublimest water and stone
sermons !

Now I 'm back at the camp-fire, and can-
not help thinking about my recognition of
my friend's presence in the valley while he
was four or five miles away, and while I
had no means of knowing that he was not
thousands of miles away. It seems super-
natural, but only because it is not under-
stood. Anyhow, it seems silly to make so
much of it, while the natural and com-
mon is more truly marvelous and myste-
rious than the so-called supernatural. In-
deed most of the miracles we hear of are
infinitely less wonderful than the com-
monest of natural phenomena, when fairly
seen. Perhaps the invisible rays that struck
me while I sat at work on the Dome are
something like those which attract and re-
pel people at first sight, concerning which
so much nonsense has been written. The
worst apparent effect of these mysterious
odd things is blindness to all that is divinely

[ 256 ]

In the Sierra

common. Hawthorne, I fancy, could weave
one of his weird romances out of this little
telepathic episode, the one strange marvel
of my life > probably replacing my good
old Professor by an attractive woman.

August 5. We were awakened this
morning before daybreak by the furious
barking of Carlo and Jack and the sound
of stampeding sheep. Billy fled from his
punk bed to the fire, and refused to stir
into the darkness to try to gather the scat-
tered flock, or ascertain the nature of the
disturbance. It was a bear attack, as we
afterward learned, and I suppose little was
gained by attempting to do anything be-
fore daylight. Nevertheless, being anxious
to know what was up, Carlo and I groped
our way through the woods, guided by the
rustling sound made by fragments of the
flock, not fearing the bear, for I knew that
the runaways would go from their enemy
as far as possible and Carlo's nose was also
to be depended upon. About half a mile

2 57

My First Summer

east of the corral we overtook twenty or
thirty of the flock and succeeded in driving
them back ; then turning to the westward,
we traced another band of fugitives and
got them back to the flock. After day-
break I discovered the remains of a sheep
carcass, still warm, showing that Bruin
must have been enjoying his early mut-
ton breakfast while I was seeking the run-
aways. He had eaten about half of it. Six
dead sheep lay in the corral, evidently
smothered by the crowding and piling up
of the flock against the side of the corral
wall when the bear entered. Making a
wide circuit of the camp, Carlo and I dis-
covered a third band of fugitives and drove
them back to camp. We also discovered
another dead sheep half eaten, showing
there had been two of the shaggy free-
booters at this early breakfast. They were
easily traced. They had each caught a
sheep, jumped over the corral fence with
them, carrying them as a cat carries a mouse,

[ 258 ]

In the Sierra

laid them at the foot of fir trees a hun-
dred yards or so back from the corral, and
eaten their fill. After breakfast I set out
to seek more of the lost, and found seventy-
five at a considerable distance from camp.
In the afternoon I succeeded, with Carlo's
help, in getting them back to the flock.
I don't know whether all are together
again or not. I shall make a big fire this
evening and keep watch.

When I asked Billy why he made his
bed against the corral in rotten wood,
when so many better places offered, he
replied that he " wished to be as near the
sheep as possible in case bears should at-
tack them.' 1 Now that the bears have
come, he has moved his bed to the far
side of the camp, and seems afraid that he
may be mistaken for a sheep.

This has been mostly a sheep day, and
of course studies have been interrupted.
Nevertheless, the walk through the gloom
of the woods before the dawn was worth

[ 259 ]

My First Summer

while, and I have learned something about
these noble bears. Their tracks are very
telling, and so are their breakfasts. Scarce
a trace of clouds to-day, and of course our
ordinary mid-day thunder is wanting.

August 6. Enjoyed the grand illumi-
nation of the camp grove, last night, from
the fire we made to frighten the bears,
compensation for loss of sleep and sheep.
The noble pillars of verdure, vividly aglow,
seemed to shoot into the sky like the flames
that lighted them. Nevertheless, one of the
bears paid us another visit, as if more at-
tracted than repelled by the fire, climbed
into the corral, killed a sheep and made
off with it without being seen, while still
another was lost by trampling and suffo-
cation against the side of the corral. Now
that our mutton has been tasted, I sup-
pose it will be difficult to put a stop to
the ravages of these freebooters.

The Don arrived to-day from the low-
lands with provisions and a letter. On learn-

[ 260 ]

In the Sierra

ing the losses he had sustained, he deter-
mined to move the flock at once to the
upper Tuolumne region, saying that the
bears would be sure to visit the camp every
night as long as we stayed, and that no
fire or noise we might make would avail
to frighten them. No clouds save a few
thin, lustrous touches on the eastern hori-
zon. Thunder heard in the distance.

August 7. - Early this morning bade
good-by to the bears and blessed silver fir
camp, and moved slowly eastward along
the Mono Trail. At sundown camped for
the night on one of the many small flowery
meadows so greatly enjoyed on my excur-
sion to LakeTenaya. The dusty, noisy flock
seems outrageously foreign and out of place
in these nature gardens, more so than bears
among sheep. The harm they do goes to
the heart, but glorious hope lifts above all
the dust and din and bids me look for-
ward to a good time coming, when money
enough will be earned to enable me to go

261

My First Summer

walking where I like in pure wildness,
with what I can carry on my back, and
when the bread-sack is empty, run down
to the nearest point on the bread-line for
more. Nor will these run-downs be blanks,
for, whether up or down, every step and
jump on these blessed mountains is full of
fine lessons.

August 8. Camp at the west end of
Lake Tenaya. Arriving early, I took a walk
on the glacier-polished pavements along the
north shore, and climbed the magnificent
mountain rock at the east end of the lake,
now shining in the late afternoon light.
Almost every yard of its surface shows the
scoring and polishing action of a great
glacier that enveloped it and swept heavily
over its summit, though it is about two
thousand feet high above the lake and ten
thousand above sea-level. This majestic,
ancient ice-flood came from the eastward,
as the scoring and crushing of the surface
shows. Even below the waters of the lake

[ 262 ]

In the Sierra

the rock in some places is still grooved
and polished ; the lapping of the waves
and their disintegrating action have not as
yet obliterated even the superficial marks
of glaciation. In climbing the steepest pol-
ished places I had to take off shoes and

--

-

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.

*

VIEW OF TENAYA LAKE SHOWING CATHEDRAL PEAK

stockings. A fine region this for study of
glacial action in mountain-making. I found
many charming plants : arctic daisies, phlox,
white spiraea, bryanthus, and rock-ferns,
pellaea, cheilanthes, allosorus, fringing
weathered seams all the way up to the

[ 263 ]

My First Summer

summit ; and sturdy junipers, grand old
gray and brown monuments, stood bravely
erect on fissured spots here and there, tell-
ing storm and avalanche stories of hun-
dreds of winters. The view of the lake
from the top is, I think, the best of all.
There is another rock, more striking in
form than this, standing isolated at the head
of the lake, but it is not more than half
as high. It is a knob or knot of burnished
granite, perhaps about a thousand feet high,
apparently as flawless and strong in struc-
ture as a wave-worn pebble, and probably
owes its existence to the superior resistance
it offered to the action of the overflowing
ice-flood.

Made sketch of the lake, and sauntered
back to camp, my iron-shod shoes clank-
ing on the pavements disturbing the chip-
munks and birds. After dark went out to
the shore, not a breath of air astir, the
lake a perfect mirror reflecting the sky
and mountains with their stars and trees and

[ 264 ]

In the Sierra

wonderful sculpture, all their grandeur re-
fined and doubled, - - a marvelously im-
pressive picture, that seemed to belong more
to heaven than earth.

August 9. I went ahead of the flock,
and crossed over the divide between the

ONE OF THE TRIBUTARY FOUNTAINS OF THE TUOLUMNE

CANON WATERS, ON THE NORTH SIDE OF THE

HOFFMAN RANGE

Merced and Tuolumne basins. The gap be-
tween the east end of the Hoffman spur and
the mass of mountain rocks about Cathe-
dral Peak, though roughened by ridges and
waving folds, seems to be one of the chan-

[ 265 ]

My First Summer

nels of a broad ancient glacier that came
from the mountains on the summit of
the range. In crossing this divide the ice-
river made an ascent of about five hundred
feet from the Tuolumne meadows. This
entire region must have been overswept
by ice.

From the top of the divide, and also
from the big Tuolumne Meadows, the
wonderful mountain called Cathedral Peak
is in sight. From every point of view it
shows marked individuality. It is a majes-
tic temple of one stone, hewn from the
living rock, and adorned with spires and
pinnacles in regular cathedral style. The
dwarf pines on the roof look like mosses.
I hope some time to climb to it to say my
prayers and hear the stone sermons.

The big Tuolumne Meadows are flowery
lawns, lying along the south fork of the
Tuolumne River at a height of about eighty-
five hundred to nine thousand feet above

the sea, partially separated by forests and

[ 266 ]

Tuolumne Meadow from Cathedral Peak

In the Sierra

bars of glaciated granite. Here the moun-
tains seem to have been cleared away or
set back, so that wide-open views may be
had in every direction. The upper end of
the series lies at the base of Mt. Lyell, the
lower below the east end of the Hoffman
Range, so the length must be about ten or
twelve miles. They vary in width from a
quarter of a mile to perhaps three quarters,
and a good many branch meadows put out
along the banks of the tributary streams.
This is the most spacious and delightful
high pleasure-ground I have yet seen. The
air is keen and bracing, yet warm during
the day ; and though lying high in the sky,
the surrounding mountains are so much
higher, one feels protected as if in a grand
hall. Mts. Dana and Gibbs, massive red
mountains, perhaps thirteen thousand feet
high or more, bound the view on the east,
the Cathedral and Unicorn Peaks, with many
nameless peaks, on the south, the Hoffman
Range on the west, and a number of peaks

[ 267 ]

My First Summer

unnamed, as far as I know, on the north.
One of these last is much like the Cathe-
dral. The grass of the meadows is mostly
fine and silky, with exceedingly slender
leaves, making a close sod, above which
the panicles of minute purple flowers seem
to float in airy, misty lightness, w r hile the
sod is enriched with at least three species
of gentian and as many or more of ortho-
carpus, potentilla, ivesia, solidago, pent-
stemon, with their gay colors, purple,
blue, yellow, and red, all of which I
may know better ere long. A central camp
will probably be made in this region, from
which I hope to make long excursions into
the surrounding mountains.

On the return trip I met the flock about
three miles east of Lake Tenaya. Here we
camped for the night near a small lake lying
on top of the divide in a clump of the two-
leaved pine. We are now about nine thousand
feet above the sea. Small lakes abound in all
sorts of situations, on ridges, along moun-

[ 268 ]

In the Sierra

tain sides, and in piles of moraine boulders,
most of them mere pools. Only in those
canons of the larger streams at the foot of
declivities, where the down thrust of the
glaciers was heaviest, do we find lakes of con-
siderable size and depth. How grateful a
task it would be to trace them all and study
them ! How pure their waters are, clear as
crystal in polished stone basins ! None of
them, so far as I have seen, have fishes, I sup-
pose on account of falls making them inac-
cessible. Yet one would think their eggs
might get into these lakes by some chance or
other ; on ducks' feet, for example, or in their
mouths, or in their crops, as some plant seeds
are distributed. Nature has so many ways of
doing such things. How did the frogs, found
in all the bogs and pools and lakes, however
high, manage to get up these mountains?
Surely not by jumping. Such excursions
through miles of dry brush and boulders
would be very hard on frogs. Perhaps their
stringy gelatinous spawn is occasionally en-

[ 269]

My First Summer

tangled or glued on the feet of water birds.
Anyhow, they are here and in hearty health
and voice. I like their cheery tronk and
crink. They take the place of song-birds at
a pinch.

August 10. Another of those charming
exhilarating days that makes the blood dance
and excites nerve currents that render one
unweariable and well-nigh immortal. Had
another view of the broad ice-ploughed
divide, and gazed again and again at the
Sierra temple and the great red mountains
east of the meadows.

We are camped near the Soda Springs on
the north side of the river. A hard time we
had getting the sheep across. They were
driven into a horseshoe bend and fairly
crowded off the bank. They seemed willing
to suffer death rather than risk getting wet,
though they swim well enough when they
have to. Why sheep should be so unreason-
ably afraid of water, I don't know, but they
do fear it as soon as they are born and per-

[ 270 ]

In the Sierra

haps before. I once saw a lamb only a few
hours old approach a shallow stream about
two feet wide and an inch deep, after it had
walked only about a hundred yards on its life
journey. All the flock to which it belonged
had crossed this inch-deep stream, and as the
mother and her lamb were the last to cross,
I had a good opportunity to observe them.
As soon as the flock was out of the way, the
anxious mother crossed over and called the
youngster. It walked cautiously to the brink,
gazed at the water, bleated piteously, and
refused to venture. The patient mother went
back to it again and again to encourage it, but
long without avail. Like the pilgrim on Jor-
dan's stormy bank it feared to launch away.
At length gathering its trembling inexpe-
rienced legs for the mighty effort, throwing
up its head as if it knew all about drowning,
and was anxious to keep its nose above water,
it made the tremendous leap, and landed
in the middle of the inch-deep stream. It
seemed astonished to find that, instead of

[ 271 ]

My First Summer

sinking over head and ears, only its toes were
wet, gazed at the shining water a few sec-
onds, and then sprang to the shore safe and
dry through the dreadful adventure. All
kinds of wild sheep are mountain animals,
and their descendants' dread of water is not
easily accounted for.

August 1 1 . Fine shining weather, with
a ten minutes' noon thunder-storm and rain.
Rambling all day getting acquainted with
the region north of the river. Found a small
lake and many charming glacier meadows
embosomed in an extensive forest of the two-
leaved pine. The forest is growing on broad,
almost continuous deposits of moraine mate-
rial, is remarkably even in its growth, and
the trees are much closer together than in
any of the fir or pine woods farther down the
range. The evenness of the growth would
seem to indicate that the trees are all of the
same age or nearly so. This regularity has
probably been in great part the result of fire.
I saw several large patches and strips of dead

[ 272 ]

In the Sierra

bleached spars, the ground beneath them
covered with a young even growth. Fire can
run in these woods, not only because the
thin bark of the trees is dripping with resin,
but because the growth is close, and the
comparatively rich soil produces good crops
of tall broad-leaved grasses on which tire
can travel, even when the weather is calm.
Besides these lire-killed patches there are a
good many fallen uprooted trees here and
there, some with the bark and needles still
on, as if they had lately been blown down in
some thunder-storm blast. Saw a large black-
tailed deer, a buck with antlers like the up-
turned roots of a fallen pine.

After a long ramble through the dense
encumbered woods I emerged upon a smooth
meadow full of sunshine like a lake of light,
about a mile and a half long, a quarter to
half a mile wide, and bounded by tall arrowy
pines. The sod, like that of all the glacier
meadows hereabouts, is made of silky agros-
tis and calamagrostis chiefly; their panicles

[ 273 ]

My First Summer

of purple flowers and purple stems, exceed-
ingly light and airy, seem to float above the
green plush of leaves like a thin misty cloud,
while the sod is brightened by several species
of gentian, potentilla, ivesia, orthocarpus,

GLACIER MEADOW, ON THE HEADWATERS OF THE TUO-
LUMNE, 9500 FEET ABOVE THE SEA

and their corresponding bees and butterflies.
All the glacier meadows are beautiful, but
few are so perfect as this one. Compared
with it the most carefully leveled, licked,
snipped artificial lawns of pleasure-grounds
are coarse things. I should like to live here

[ 274 ]

In the Sierra

always. It is so calm and withdrawn while
open to the universe in full communion with
everything good. To the north of this glori-
ous meadow I discovered the camp of some
Indian hunters. Their fire was still burn-
ing, but they had not yet returned from the
chase.

From meadow to meadow, every one
beautiful beyond telling, and from lake to
lake through groves and belts of arrowy trees,
I held my way northward toward Mt. Con-
ness, finding telling beauty everywhere,
while the encompassing mountains were
calling " Come.' 1 Hope I may climb them
all.

August 1 2 . The sky-scenery has changed
but little so far with the change in elevation.
Clouds about .05. Glorious pearly cumuli
tinted with purple of ineffable fineness of
tone. Moved camp to the side of the glacier
meadow mentioned above. To let sheep
trample so divinely fine a place seems bar-
barous. Fortunately they prefer the succu-

[ 275 ]

My First Summer

lent broad-leaved triticum and other wood-
land grasses to the silky species of the
meadows, and therefore seldom bite them
or set foot on them.

The shepherd and the Don cannot agree
about methods of herding. Billy sets his
dog Jack on the sheep far too often, so the
Don thinks ; and after some dispute to-
day, in which the shepherd loudly claimed
the right to dog the sheep as often as he
pleased, he started for the plains. Now I
suppose the care of the sheep will fall on
me, though Mr. Delaney promises to do
the herding himself for a while, then re-
turn to the lowlands and bring another
shepherd, so as to leave me free to rove as
I like.

Had another rich ramble. Pushed north-
ward beyond the forests to the head of the
general basin, where traces of glacial action
are strikingly clear and interesting. The re-
cesses among the peaks look like quarries,
so raw and fresh are the moraine chips and

[ 276]

In the Sierra

boulders that strew the ground in Nature's
glacial workshops.

Soon after my return to camp we re-
ceived a visit from an Indian, probably one
of the hunters whose camp I had discov-
ered. He came from Mono, he said, with
others of his tribe, to hunt deer. One that
he had killed a short distance from here
he was carrying on his back, its legs tied
together in an ornamental bunch on his
forehead. Throwing down his burden, he
gazed stolidly for a few minutes in silent
Indian fashion, then cut off eight or ten
pounds of venison for us, and begged a
" lill" (little) of everything he saw or could
think of, flour, bread, sugar, tobacco,
whiskey, needles, etc. We gave a fair price
for the meat in flour and sugar and added
a few needles. A strangely dirty and irreg-
ular life these dark-eyed, dark-haired, half-
happy savages lead in this clean wilderness,
starvation and abundance, deathlike calm,
indolence, and admirable, indefatigable

[ 277 ]

My First Summer

action succeeding each other in stormy
rhythm like winter and summer. Two
things they have that civilized toilers might
well envy them, pure air and pure water.
These go far to cover and cure the gross-
ness of their lives. Their food is mostly
good berries, pine nuts, clover, lily bulbs,
wild sheep, antelope, deer, grouse, sage hens,
and the larvae of ants, wasps, bees, and other
insects.

August. 13.- - Day all sunshine, dawn and
evening purple, noon gold, no clouds, air
motionless. Mr. Delaney arrived with two
shepherds, one of them an Indian. On his
way up from the plains he left some provi-
sions at the Portuguese camp on Porcupine
Creek near our old Yosemite camp, and I set
out this morning with one of the pack ani-
mals to fetch them. Arrived at the Porcu-
pine camp at noon, and might have returned
to the Tuolumne late in the evening, but
concluded to stay over night with the Por-
tuguese shepherds at their pressing invita-

[ 278 ]

In the Sierra

tion. They had sad stories to tell of losses
from the Yosemite bears, and were so dis-
couraged they seemed on the point of leav-
ing the mountains ; for the bears came every
night and helped themselves to one or sev-
eral of the flock in spite of all their efforts
to keep them off.

I spent the afternoon in a grand ramble
along the Yosemite walls. From the highest
of the rocks called the Three Brothers, I en-
joyed a magnificent view comprehending all
the upper half of the floor of the valley and
nearly all the rocks of the walls on both
sides and at the head, with snowy peaks in
the background. Saw also the Vernal and
Nevada Falls, a truly glorious picture,
rocky strength and permanence combined
with beauty of plants frail and fine and
evanescent; water descending in thunder,
and the same water gliding through mead-
ows and groves in gentlest beauty. This
standpoint is about eight thousand feet above
the sea, or four thousand feet above the floor

[ 279 ]

My First Summer

of the valley, and every tree, though look-
ing small and feathery, stands in admirable
clearness, and the shadows they cast are as
distinct in outline as if seen at a distance
of a few yards. They appeared even more
so. No words will ever describe the ex-
quisite beauty and charm of this mountain
park Nature's landscape garden at once
tenderly beautiful and sublime. No wonder
it draws nature-lovers from all over the
world.

Glacial action even on this lofty summit
is plainly displayed. Not only has all the
lovely valley now smiling in sunshine been
filled to the brim with ice, but it has been
deeply overflowed.

I visited our old Yosemite camp-ground
on the head of Indian Creek, and found it
fairly patted and smoothed down with bear-
tracks. The bears had eaten all the sheep
that were smothered in the corral, and some
of the grand animals must have died, for Mr.

Delaney, before leaving camp, put a large

[ 280 ]

In the Sierra

quantity of poison in the carcasses. All sheep-
men carry strychnine to kill coyotes, bears,
and panthers, though neither coyotes nor pan-
thers are at all numerous in the upper moun-
tains. The little dog-like wolves are far more
numerous in the foothill region and on the
plains, where they tind a better supply of
food,- -saw only one panther-track above
eight thousand feet.

On my return after sunset to the Portu-
guese camp I found the shepherds greatly
excited over the behavior of the bears that
have learned to like mutton. "They are
getting worse and worse," they lamented.
Not willing to wait decently until after dark
for their suppers, they come and kill and
eat their rill in broad daylight. The evening
before my arrival, when the two shepherds
were leisurely driving the flock toward
camp half an hour before sunset, a hun-
gry bear came out of the chaparral within
a few yards of them and shuffled deliber-
ately toward the flock. " Portuguese Joe,"

[ 281 ]

My First Summer

who always carried a gun loaded with buck-
shot, fired excitedly, threw down his gun,
fled to the nearest suitable tree, and climbed
to a safe height without waiting to see the
effect of his shot. His companion also ran,
but said that he saw the bear rise on its hind
legs and throw out its arms as if feeling for
somebody, and then go into the brush as if
wounded.

At another of their camps in this neigh-
borhood, a bear with two cubs attacked the
flock before sunset, just as they were ap-
proaching the corral. Joe promptly climbed
a tree out of danger, while Antone, rebuking
his companion for cowardice in abandoning
his charge, said that he was not going to
let bears " eat up his sheeps ' in daylight,
and rushed towards the bears, shouting and
setting his dog on them. The frightened
cubs climbed a tree, but the mother ran to
meet the shepherd and seemed anxious to
fight. Antone stood astonished for a mo-
ment, eyeing the oncoming bear, then

[ 282 ]

In the Sierra

turned and fled, closely pursued. Unable
to reach a suitable tree for climbing, he
ran to the camp and scrambled up to the
roof of the little cabin ; the bear followed,
but did not climb to the roof, only stood
glaring up at him for a few minutes, threat-
ening him and holding him in mortal ter-
ror, then went to her cubs, called them
down, went to the flock, caught a sheep
for supper, and vanished in the brush. As
soon as the bear left the cabin the trem-
bling Antone begged Joe to show him a
good safe tree, up which he climbed like
a sailor climbing a mast, and remained as
long as he could hold on, the tree being
almost branchless. After these disastrous ex-
periences the two shepherds chopped and
gathered large piles of dry wood and made
a ring of fire around the corral every night,
while one with a gun kept watch from a
comfortable stage built on a neighboring
pine that commanded a view of the corral.
This evening the show made by the circle

[ 283 ]

My First Summer

of fire was very fine, bringing out the sur-
rounding trees in most impressive relief,
and making the thousands of sheep eyes
glow like a glorious bed of diamonds.

August 14. Up to the time I went to
bed last night all was quiet, though we ex-
pected the shaggy freebooters every minute.
They did not come till near midnight, when
a pair walked boldly to the corral between
two of the great fires, climbed in, killed
two sheep and smothered ten, while the
frightened watcher in the tree did not fire
a single shot, saying that he was afraid he
might kill some of the sheep, for the bears
got into the corral before he got a good
clear view of them. I told the shepherds
they should at once move the flock to
another camp. " Oh, no use, no use/ 3 they
lamented ; " where we go, the bears go too.
See my poor dead sheeps, soon all dead.
No use try another camp. We go down to
the plains." And as I afterwards learned,
they were driven out of the mountains a

[ 284 ]

In the Sierra

month before the usual time. Were bears
much more numerous and destructive, the
sheep would be kept away altogether.

It seems strange that bears, so fond of all
sorts of flesh, running the risks of guns and
fires and poison, should never attack men
except in defense of their young. How eas-
ily and safely a bear could pick us up as we
lie asleep ! Only wolves and tigers seem to
have learned to hunt man for food, and per-
haps sharks and crocodiles. Mosquitoes and
other insects would, I suppose, devour a help-
less man in some parts of the world, and so
might lions, leopards, wolves, hyenas, and
panthers at times if pressed by hunger,
but under ordinary circumstances, perhaps,
only the tiger among land animals may be
said to be a man-eater, unless we add man
himself.

Clouds as usual about .05. Another glori-
ous Sierra day, warm, crisp, fragrant, and
clear. Many of the flowering plants have
gone to seed, but many others are unfolding

[ 285 ]

My First Summer

their petals every day, and the firs and pines
are more fragrant than ever. Their seeds are
nearly ripe, and will soon be flying in the
merriest flocks that ever spread a wing.

On the way back to our Tuolumne camp,
I enjoyed the scenery if possible more than
when it first came to view. Every feature
already seems familiar as if I had lived here
always. I never weary gazing at the won-
derful Cathedral. It has more individual
character than any other rock or mountain
I ever saw, excepting perhaps the Yosemite
South Dome. The forests, too, seem kindly
familiar, and the lakes and meadows and
glad singing streams. I should like to dwell
with them forever. Here with bread and
water I should be content. Even if not
allowed to roam and climb, tethered to a
stake or tree in some meadow or grove, even
then I should be content forever. Bathed in
such beauty, watching the expressions ever
varying on the faces of the mountains, watch-
ing the stars, which here have a glory that

[ 286]

In the Sierra

the lowlander never dreams of, watching
the circling seasons, listening to the songs
of the waters and winds and birds, would be
endless pleasure. And what glorious cloud-
lands I should see, storms and calms, - - a new
heaven and a new earth every day, aye and
new inhabitants. And how many visitors I
should have. I feel sure I should not have
one dull moment. And why should this ap-
pear extravagant? It is only common sense,
a sign of health, genuine, natural, all-awake
health. One would be at an endless God-
ful play, and what speeches and music and
acting and scenery and lights ! sun, moon,
stars, auroras. Creation just beginning, the
morning stars " still singing together and all
the sons of God shouting for joy.' 3

August 21. Have just returned from a
fine wild excursion across the range to Mono
Lake, by way of the Mono or Bloody Canon
Pass. Mr. Delaney has been good to me all
summer, lending a helping, sympathizing

hand at every opportunity, as if my wild

[ 287 ]

My First Summer

notions and rambles and studies were his
own. He is one of those remarkable Cali-
fornia men who have been overflowed and
denuded and remodeled by the excitements
of the gold fields, like the Sierra landscapes
by grinding ice, bringing the harder bosses
and ridges of character into relief, a tall,
lean, big-boned, big-hearted Irishman, edu-
cated for a priest in Maynooth College,
lots of good in him, shining out now and
then in this mountain light. Recognizing
my love of wild places, he told me one even-
ing that I ought to go through Bloody
Canon, for he was sure I should find it wild
enough. He had not been there himself,
he said, but had heard many of his mining
friends speak of it as the wildest of all the
Sierra passes. Of course I was glad to go. It
lies just to the east of our camp and swoops
down from the summit of the range to the
edge of the Mono desert, making a descent
of about four thousand feet in a distance of
about four miles. It was known and traveled

[ 288 ]

In the Sierra

as a pass by wild animals and the Indians
long before its discovery by white men in
the gold year of 1858, as is shown by old
trails which come together at the head of it.
The name may have been suggested by the
red color of the metamorphic slates in which
the canon abounds, or by the blood stains on
the rocks from the unfortunate animals that
were compelled to slide and shuffle over the
sharp-angled boulders.

Early in the morning I tied my note-book
and some bread to my belt, and strode away
full of eager hope, feeling that I was going
to have a glorious revel. The glacier mead-
ows that lay along my way served to soothe
my morning speed, for the sod was full of
blue gentians and daisies, kalmia and dwarf
vaccinium, calling for recognition as old
friends, and I had to stop many times to
examine the shining rocks over which the
ancient glacier had passed with tremendous
pressure, polishing them so well that they re-
flected the sunlight like glass in some places,

[ 289 ]

My First Summer

while fine striae, seen clearly through a lens,
indicated the direction in which the ice had
flowed. On some of the sloping polished
pavements abrupt steps occur, showing that
occasionally large masses of the rock had
given way before the glacial pressure, as well
as small particles ; moraines, too, some scat-
tered, others regular like long curving em-
bankments and dams, occur here and there,
giving the general surface of the region a
young, new-made appearance. I watched the
gradual dwarfing of the pines as I ascended,
and the corresponding dwarfing of nearly all
the rest of the vegetation. On the slopes of
Mammoth Mountain, to the south of the
pass, I saw many gaps in the woods reaching
from the upper edge of the timber-line down
to the level meadows, where avalanches of
snow had descended, sweeping away every
tree in their paths as well as the soil they
were growing in, leaving the bed-rock bare.
The trees are nearly all uprooted, but a few
that had been extremely well anchored in

[ 290 ]

In the Sierra

clefts of the rock were broken off near the
ground. It seems strange at first sight that
trees that had been allowed to grow for a
century or more undisturbed should in their
old age be thus swished away at a stroke.
Such avalanches can only occur under rare
conditions of weather and snowfall. No
doubt on some positions of the mountain
slopes the inclination and smoothness of the
surface is such that avalanches must occur
every winter, or even after every heavy snow-
storm, and of course no trees or even bushes
can grow in their channels. I noticed a few
clean-swept slopes of this kind. The up-
rooted trees that had grown in the pathway of
what might be called "century avalanches'
were piled in windrows, and tucked snugly
against the wall-trees of the gaps> heads down-
ward, excepting a few that were carried out
into the open ground of the meadows, where
the heads of the avalanches had stopped.
Young pines, mostly the two-leaved and the
white-barked, are already springing up in

[ 291 ]

My First Summer

these cleared gaps. It would be interesting
to ascertain the age of these saplings, for thus
we should gain a fair approximation to the
year that the great avalanches occurred. Per-
haps most or all of them occurred the same
winter. How glad I should be if free to pur-
sue such studies !

Near the summit at the head of the pass
I found a species of dwarf willow lying
perfectly flat on the ground, making a nice,
soft, silky gray carpet, not a single stem
or branch more than three inches high ; but
the catkins, which are now nearly ripe, stand
erect and make a close, nearly regular gray
growth, being larger than all the rest of the
plants. Some of these interesting dwarfs have
only one catkin, willow bushes reduced
to their lowest terms. I found patches of
dwarf vaccinium also forming smooth car-
pets, closely pressed to the ground or against
the sides of stones, and covered with round
pink flowers in lavish abundance as if they

had fallen from the sky like hail. A little

[ 292 ]

In the Sierra

higher, almost at the very head of the pass,
I found the blue arctic daisy and purple-
flowered bryanthus, the mountain's own
darlings, gentle mountaineers face to face
with the sky, kept safe and warm by a thou-
sand miracles, seeming always the finer and
purer the wilder and stormier their homes.
The trees, tough and resiny, seem unable to
go a step farther ; but up and up, far above the
tree-line, these tender plants climb, cheerily
spreading their gray and pink carpets right
up to the very edges of the snow-banks in
deep hollows and shadows. Here, too, is the
familiar robin, tripping on the flowery lawns,
bravely singing the same cheery song I first
heard when a boy in Wisconsin newly arrived
from old Scotland. In this fine company
sauntering enchanted, taking no heed of
time, I at length entered the gate of the
pass, and the huge rocks began to close
around me in all their mysterious impres-
siveness. Just then I was startled by a lot
of queer, hairy, muffled creatures coming

[ 293 ]

My First Summer

shuffling, shambling, wallowing toward me
as if they had no bones in their bodies. Had
I discovered them while they were yet a
good way off, I should have tried to avoid
them. What a picture they made contrasted
with the others I had just been admiring.
When I came up to them, I found that they
were only a band of Indians from Mono on
their way to Yosemite for a load of acorns.
They were wrapped in blankets made of
the skins of sage-rabbits. The dirt on some
of the faces seemed almost old enough and
thick enough to have a geological signifi-
cance ; some were strangely blurred and di-
vided into sections by seams and wrinkles
that looked like cleavage joints, and had a

worn abraded look as if thev had lain ex-

j

posed to the weather for ages. I tried to pass
them without stopping, but they would n't
let me; forming a dismal circle about me,
I was closely besieged while they begged
whiskey or tobacco, and it was hard to con-
vince them that I had n't any. How glad I

[ 294 ]

In the Sierra

was to get away from the gray, grim crowd
and see them vanish down the trail! Yet it
seems sad to feel such desperate repulsion
from one's fellow beings, however degraded.
To prefer the society of squirrels and wood-
chucks to that of our own species must surely
be unnatural. So with a fresh breeze and a
hill or mountain between us I must wish
them Godspeed and try to pray and sing with
Burns, " It 's coming yet, for a' that, that man
to man, the warld o'er, shall brothers be for
a' that."

How the day passed I hardly know. By
the map I have come only about ten or
twelve miles, though the sun is already low
in the west, showing how long I must
have lingered, observing, sketching, taking
notes among the glaciated rocks and mo-
raines and Alpine flower-beds.

At sundown the sombre crags and peaks
were inspired with the ineffable beauty of
the alpenglow, and a solemn, awful still-
ness hushed everything in the landscape.

[ 295 ]

My First Summer

Then I crept into a hollow by the side of
a small lake near the head of the canon,
smoothed a sheltered spot, and gathered a
few pine tassels for a bed. After the short
twilight began to fade I kindled a sunny
fire, made a tin cupful of tea, and lay down
to watch the stars. Soon the night-wind
began to flow from the snowy peaks over-
head, at first only a gentle breathing, then
gaining strength, in less than an hour rum-
bled in massive volume something like a
boisterous stream in a boulder-choked chan-
nel, roaring and moaning down the canon
as if the work it had to do was tremen-
dously important and fateful ; and mingled
with these storm tones were those of the
waterfalls on the north side of the canon,
now sounding distinctly, now smothered
by the heavier cataracts of air, making a
glorious psalm of savage wildness. My fire
squirmed and struggled as if ill at ease, for
though in a sheltered nook, detached masses
of icy wind often fell like icebergs on top

[ 296 ]

In the Sierra

of it, scattering sparks and coals, so that
I had to keep well back to avoid being
burned. But the big resiny roots and knots
of the dwarf pine could neither be beaten
out nor blown away, and the flames, now
rushing up in long lances, now flattened
and twisted on the rocky ground, roared
as if trying to tell the storm stories of the
trees they belonged to, as the light given
out was telling the story of the sunshine
they had gathered in centuries of summers.
The stars shone clear in the strip of sky
between the huge dark cliffs ; and as I lay
recalling the lessons of the day, suddenly
the full moon looked down over the canon
wall, her face apparently filled with eager
concern, which had a startling effect, as if
she had left her place in the sky and had
come down to gaze on me alone, like a
person entering one's bedroom. It was hard
to realize that she was in her place in the
sky, and was looking abroad on half the
globe, land and sea, mountains, plains, lakes,

[ 297 ]

My First Summer

rivers, oceans, ships, cities with their myriads
of inhabitants sleeping and waking, sick and
well. No, she seemed to be just on the rim
of Bloody Canon and looking only at me.
This was indeed getting near to Nature. I
remember watching the harvest moon ris-
ing above the oak trees in Wisconsin appar-
ently as big as a cart-wheel and not farther
than half a mile distant. With these excep-
tions I might say I never before had seen
the moon, and this night she seemed so full
of life and so near, the effect was marvel-
ously impressive and made me forget the
Indians, the great black rocks above me, and
the wild uproar of the winds and waters
making their way down the huge jagged
gorge. Of course I slept but little and gladly
welcomed the dawn over the Mono Desert.
By the time I had made a cupful of tea the
sunbeams were pouring through the canon,
and I set forth, gazing eagerly at the tre-
mendous walls of red slates savagely hacked
and scarred and apparently ready to fall in

[ 298 ]

In the Sierra

avalanches great enough to choke the pass
and fill up the chain of lakelets. But soon its
beauties came to view, and I bounded lightly
from .rock to rock, admiring the polished
bosses shining in the slant sunshine with
glorious effect in the general roughness of
moraines and avalanche taluses, even toward
the head of the canon near the highest foun-
tains of the ice. Here, too, are most of the
lowly plant people seen yesterday on the
other side of the divide now opening their
beautiful eyes. None could fail to glory in
Nature's tender care for them in so wild a
place. The little ouzel is flitting from rock
to rock along the rapid swirling Canon
Creek, diving for breakfast in icy pools, and
merrily singing as if the huge rugged ava-
lanche-swept gorge was the most delightful
of all its mountain homes. Besides a high
fall on the north wall of the caiion, appar-
ently coming direct from the sky, there are
many narrow cascades, bright silvery ribbons
zigzagging down the red cliffs, tracing the

[ 299 ]

My First Summer

diagonal cleavage joints of the metamorphic
slates, now contracted and out of sight, now
leaping from ledge to ledge in filmy sheets
through which the sunbeams sift. And on
the main Canon Creek, to which all these
are tributary, is a series of small falls, cas-
cades, and rapids extending all the way down
to the foot of the canon, interrupted only by
the lakes in which the tossed and beaten
waters rest. One of the finest of the cascades
is outspread on the face of a precipice, its
waters separated into ribbon-like strips, and
woven into a diamond-like pattern by trac-
ing the cleavage joints of the rock, while
tufts of bryanthus, grass, sedge, saxifrage
form beautiful fringes. Who could imagine
beauty so fine in so savage a place? Gardens
are blooming in all sorts of nooks and hol-
lows, at the head alpine eriogonums, eri-
gerons, saxifrages, gentians, cowania, bush
primula ; in the middle region larkspur,
columbine, orthocarpus, castilleia, harebell,
epilobium, violets, mints, yarrow ; near the

[ 300 ]

In the Sierra

foot sunflowers, lilies, brier rose, iris, Ionic-
era, clematis.

One of the smallest of the cascades, which
I name the Bower Cascade, is in the lower
region of the pass, where the vegetation is
snowy and luxuriant. Wild rose and dog-
wood form dense masses overarching the
stream, and out of this bower the creek,
grown strong with many indashing tribu-
taries, leaps forth into the light, and de-
scends in a fluted curve thick-sown with crisp
flashing spray. At the foot of the canon
there is a lake formed in part at least by the
damming of the stream by a terminal mo-
raine. The three other lakes in the canon
are in basins eroded from the solid rock,
where the pressure of the glacier was great-
est, and the most resisting portions of the
basin rims are beautifully, tellingly polished.
Below Moraine Lake at the foot of the
canon there are several old lake-basins lying
between the large lateral moraines which
extend out into the desert. These basins are

My First Summer

now completely filled up by the material
carried in by the streams, and changed to
dry sandy flats covered mostly by grass and
artemisia and sun-loving flowers. All these
lower lake-basins were evidently formed by
terminal moraine dams deposited where the
receding glacier had lingered during short
periods of less waste, or greater snowfall, or
both.

Looking up the canon from the warm
sunny edge of the Mono plain my morning
ramble seems a dream, so great is the change
in the vegetation and climate. The lilies on
the bank of Moraine Lake are higher than
my head, and the sunshine is hot enough for
palms. Yet the snow round the arctic gar-
dens at the summit of the pass is plainly visi-
ble, only about four miles away, and between
lie specimen zones of all the principal cli-
mates of the globe. In little more than an
hour one may swoop down from winter to
summer, from an arctic to a torrid region,
through as great changes of climate as one

[ 302 ]

In the Sierra

would encounter in traveling from Labrador
to Florida.

The Indians I had met near the head of
the canon had camped at the foot of it the
night before they made the ascent, and I
found their lire still smoking on the side of
a small tributary stream near Moraine Lake;
and on the edge of what is called the Mono
Desert, four or five miles from the lake, I
came to a patch of elymus, or wild rye,
growing in magnificent waving clumps six
or eight feet high, bearing heads six to eight
inches long. The crop was ripe, and Indian
women were gathering the grain in baskets
by bending down large handfuls, beating out
the seed, and fanning it in the wind. The
grains are about five eighths of an inch long,
dark-colored and sweet. I fancy the bread
made from it must be as good as wheat bread.
A fine squirrelish employment this wild grain
gathering seems, and the women were evi-
dently enjoying it, laughing and chattering
and looking almost natural, though most In-

[ 303 ]

My First Summer

dians I have seen are not a whit more natural
in their lives than we civilized whites. Per-
haps if I knew them better I should like
them better. The worst thing about them is
their uncleanliness. Nothing truly wild is un-
clean. Down on the shore of Mono Lake I saw
a number of their flimsy huts on the banks of
streams that dash swiftly into that dead sea,
- mere brush tents where they lie and eat
at their ease. Some of the men were feast-
ing on buffalo berries, lying beneath the tall
bushes now red with fruit. The berries are
rather insipid, but they must needs be whole-
some, since for days and weeks the Indians, it
is said, eat nothing else. In the season they in
like manner depend chiefly on the fat larva?
of a fly that breeds in the salt water of the
lake, or on the big fat corrugated caterpil-
lars of a species of silkworm that feeds on the
leaves of the yellow pine. Occasionally a
grand rabbit-drive is organized and hundreds
are slain with clubs on the lake shore, chased
and frightened into a dense crowd by dogs,

[ 304 ]

In the Sierra

boys, girls, men and women, and rings of sage
brush fire, when of course they are quickly
killed. The skins are made into blankets. In
the autumn the more enterprising of the
hunters bring in a good many deer, and rarely
a wild sheep from the high peaks. Antelopes
used to be abundant on the desert at the base
of the interior mountain-ranges. Sage hens,
grouse, and squirrels help to vary their wild
diet of worms; pine nuts also from the small
interesting Pinus monophylla, and good bread
and good mush are made from acorns and wild
rye. Strange to say, they seem to like the lake
larvae best of all. Long windrows are washed
up on the shore, which they gather and dry
like grain for winter use. It is said that wars;
on account of encroachments on each other's
worm-grounds, are of common occurrence
among the various tribes and families. Each
claims a certain marked portion of the shore.
The pine nuts are delicious,- -large quanti-
ties are gathered every autumn. The tribes
of the west flank of the range trade acorns

[ 305 ]

My First Summer

for worms and pine nuts. The squaws carry
immense loads on their backs across the
rough passes and down the range, making
journeys of about forty or fifty miles each
way.

The desert around the lake is surprisingly

!'<
">,' M ,>^

*.- ..V , ;'

,

MONO LAKE AND VOLCANIC CONES, LOOKING SOUTH

flowery. In many places among the sage
bushes I saw mentzelia, abronia, aster, big-
elovia, and gilia, all of which seemed to
enjoy the hot sunshine. The abronia, in
particular, is a delicate, fragrant, and most
charming plant.

Opposite the mouth of the canon a range

[ 306 ]

In the Sierra

of volcanic cones extends southward from
the lake, rising abruptly out of the desert
like a chain of mountains. The largest of
the cones are about twenty-five hundred feet
high above the lake level, have well-formed
craters, and all of them are evidently compara-

ffifc , ''

hi.

HIGHEST MONO VOLCANIC CONES (NEAR VIEW)

tively recent additions to the landscape. At a
distance of a few miles they look like heaps
of loose ashes that have never been blest by
either rain or snow, but, for a' that and a'
that, yellow pines are climbing their gray
slopes, trying to clothe them and give
beauty for ashes. A country of wonderful

[ 307 ]

My First Summer

contrasts. Hot deserts bounded by snow-
laden mountains, - - cinders and ashes scat-
tered on glacier-polished pavements, frost
and fire working together in the making
of beauty. In the lake are several volcanic
islands, which show that the waters were
once mingled with fire.

Glad to get back to the green side of the
mountains, though I have greatly enjoyed the
gray east side and hope to see more of it.
Reading these grand mountain manuscripts
displayed through every vicissitude of heat
and cold, calm and storm, upheaving volca-
noes and down-grinding glaciers, we see that
everything in Nature called destruction must
be creation, a change from beauty to
beauty.

Our glacier meadow camp north of the
Soda Springs seems more beautiful every day.
The grass covers all the ground though the
leaves are thread-like in fineness, and in walk-
ing on the sod it seems like a plush carpet
of marvelous richness and softness, and the

[308]

Sierra Range from Mono Crater

In the Sierra

purple panicles brushing against one's feet are

not felt. This is a typical glacier meadow,
occupying the basin of a vanished lake, very
definitely bounded by walls of the arrowy
two-leaved pines drawn up in handsome or-
derly array like soldiers on parade. There are
many other meadows of the same kind here-
abouts imbedded in the woods. The main big
meadows along the river are the same in gen-
eral and extend with but little interruption for
ten or twelve miles, but none I have seen are so
finely finished and perfect as this one. It is
richer in flowering plants than the prairies of
Wisconsin and Illinois were when in all their
wild glory. The showy flowers are mostly
three species of gentian, a purple and yellow
orthocarpus, a golden-rod or two, a small blue
pentstemon almost like a gentian, potentilla,
ivesia, pedicularis, white violet, kalmia, and
bryanthus. There are no coarse weedy plants.
Through this flowery lawn flows a stream si-
lently gliding, swirling, slipping as if careful
not to make the slightest noise. It is only

[ 309 ]

My First Summer

about three feet wide in most places, widen ing
here and there into pools six or eight feet in
diameter with no apparent current, the banks
bossily rounded by the down-curving mossy
sod, grass panicles over-leaning like minia-
ture pine trees, and rugs of bryanthus spread-
ing here and there over sunken boulders. At
the foot of the meadow the stream, rich with
the juices of the plants it has refreshed, sings
merrily down over shelving rock ledges
on its way to the Tuolumne River. The
sublime, massive Mt. Dana and its com-
panions, green, red, and white, loom impres-
sively above the pines along the eastern
horizon; a range or spur of gray rugged
granite crags and mountains on the north;
the curiously crested and battlemented Mt.
Hoffman on the west; and the Cathedral
Range on the south with its grand Cathe-
dral Peak, Cathedral Spires, Unicorn Peak,
and several others, gray and pointed, or
massively rounded.

August 22. Clouds none, cool west

3io]

In the Sierra

wind, slight hoarfrost on the meadows.
Carlo is missing ; have been seeking him
all day. In the thick woods between camp
and the river, among tall grass and fallen
pines, I discovered a baby fawn. At first it
seemed inclined to come to me; but when
I tried to catch it, and got within a rod
or two, it turned and walked softly away,
choosing its steps like a cautious, stealthy,
hunting cat. Then, as if suddenly called or
alarmed, it began to buck and run like a
grown deer, jumping high above the fallen
trunks, and was soon out of sight. Possibly
its mother may have called it, but I did
not hear her. I don't think fawns ever leave
the home thicket or follow their mothers
until they are called or frightened. I am
distressed about Carlo. There are several
other camps and dogs not many miles from
here, and I still hope to find him. He never
left me before. Panthers are very rare here,
and I don't think any of these cats would
dare touch him. He knows bears too well

My First Summer

to be caught by them, and as for Indians,
they don't want him.

August 23. Cool, bright day, hinting
Indian summer. Mr. Delaney has gone to
the Smith Ranch, on the Tuolumne below
Hetch-Hetchy Valley, thirty-five or forty
miles from here, so I '11 be alone for a week
or more,- -not really alone, for Carlo has
come back. He was at a camp a few miles
to the northwestward. He looked sheep-
ish and ashamed when I asked him where
he had been and why he had gone away
without leave. He is now trying to get me
to caress him and show signs of forgiveness.
A wondrous wise dog. A great load is off
my mind. I could not have left the moun-
tains without him. He seems very glad to
get back to me.

Rose and crimson sunset, and soon after
the stars appeared the moon rose in most
impressive majesty over the top of Mt. Dana.
I sauntered up the meadow in the white
light. The jet-black tree-shadows were so

[ 312 ]

In the Sierra

wonderfully distinct and substantial looking,
I often stepped high in crossing them, taking
them for black charred logs.

August 24. Another charming day,
warm and calm soon after sunrise, clouds
only about .01, faint, silky cirrus wisps,
scarcely visible. Slight frost, Indian summer-
ish, the mountains growing softer in out-
line and dreamy looking, their rough angles
melted off, apparently. Sky at evening with
fine, dark, subdued purple, almost like the
evening purple of the San Joaquin plains
in settled weather. The moon is now gazing
over the summit of Dana. Glorious exhil-
arating air. I wonder if in all the world
there is another mountain range of equal
height blessed with weather so fine, and so
openly kind and hospitable and approach-
able.

August 25. Cool as usual in the morn-
ing, quickly changing to the ordinary serene
generous warmth and brightness. Toward
evening the west wind was cool and sent us

My First Summer

to the camp-lire. Of all Nature's flowery
carpeted mountain halls none can be finer
than this glacier meadow. Bees and butter-
flies seem as abundant as ever. The birds are
still here, showing no sign of leaving for win-
ter quarters though the frost must bring them
to mind. For my part I should like to stay
here all winter or all my life or even all
eternity.

August 26. - -Frost this morning; all the
meadow grass and some of the pine needles
sparkling w r ith irised crystals,- -flowers of
light. Large picturesque clouds, craggy like
rocks, are piled on Mt. Dana, reddish in color
like the mountain itself; the sky for a few
degrees around the horizon is pale purple,
into which the pines dip their spires with
fine effect. Spent the day as usual looking
about me, watching the changing lights, the
ripening autumn colors of the grass, seeds,
late-blooming gentians, asters, golden-rods;
parting the meadow grass here and there and
looking down into the underworld of mosses

In the Sierra

and liverworts ; watching the busy ants and
beetles and other small people at work and
play like squirrels and bears in a forest;
studying the formation of lakes and meadows,
moraines, mountain sculpture ; making small
beginnings in these directions, charmed by
the serene beauty of everything.

The day has been extra cloudy, though
bright on the whole, for the clouds were
brighter than common. Clouds about .15,
which in Switzerland would be considered
extra clear. Probably more free sunshine falls
on this majestic range than on any other in
the world I 've ever seen or heard of. It has
the brightest weather, brightest glacier-pol-
ished rocks, the greatest abundance of irised
spray from its glorious waterfalls, the bright-
est forests of silver firs and silver pines, more
star-shine, moonshine, and perhaps more crys-
tal-shine than any other mountain chain, and
its countless mirror lakes, having more light
poured into them, glow and spangle most.
And how glorious the shining after the short

My First Summer

summer showers and after frosty nights when
the morning sunbeams are pouring through
the crystals on the grass and pine needles, and
how ineffably spiritually fine is the morning-
glow on the mountain-tops and the alpenglow
of evening. Well may the Sierra be named, not
the Snowy Range, but the Range of Light.

August 27. Clouds only .05,- -mostly
white and pink cumuli over the Hoffman
spur towards evening, frosty morning.
Crystals grow in marvelous beauty and perfec-
tion of form these still nights, every one built
as carefully as the grandest holiest temple, as
if planned to endure forever.

Contemplating the lace-like fabric of
streams outspread over the mountains, we are
reminded that every thing is flowing going
somewhere, animals and so-called lifeless
rocks as well as water. Thus the snow flows
fast or slow in grand beauty-making glaciers
and avalanches; the air in majestic floods
carrying minerals, plant leaves, seeds, spores,
with streams of music and fragrance ; water

In the Sierra

streams carrying rocks both in solution and
in the form of mud particles, sand, pebbles,
and boulders. Rocks flow from volcanoes
like water from springs, and animals flock
together and flow in currents modified by
stepping, leaping, gliding, flying, swimming,
etc. While the stars go streaming through
space pulsed on and on forever like blood
globules in Nature's warm heart.

August 28. The dawn a glorious song
of color. Sky absolutely cloudless. A fine
crop of hoarfrost. Warm after ten o'clock.
The gentians don't mind the first frost though
their petals seem so delicate ; they close every
night as if going to sleep, and awake fresh
as ever in the morning sun-glory. The grass
is a shade browner since last week, but there
are no nipped wilted plants of any sort as far
as I have seen. Butterflies and the grand host
of smaller flies are benumbed every night,
but they hover and dance in the sunbeams
over the meadows before noon with no ap-
parent lack of playful, joyful life. Soon they

[ 317 ]

My First Summer

must all fall like petals in an orchard, dry
and wrinkled, not a wing of all the mighty
host left to tingle the air. Nevertheless
new myriads will arise in the spring, rejoic-
ing, exulting, as if laughing cold death to
scorn.

August 29. - - Clouds about .05, slight
frost. Bland serene Indian summer weather.
Have been gazing all day at the moun-
tains, watching the changing lights. More
and more plainly are they clothed with light
as a garment, white tinged with pale purple,
palest during the midday hours, richest in
the morning and evening. Everything seems
consciously peaceful, thoughtful, faithfully
waiting God's will.

August 30. This day just like yesterday.
A few clouds motionless and apparently with
no work to do beyond looking beautiful.
Frost enough for crystal building, glorious
fields of ice-diamonds destined to last but a
night. How lavish is Nature building, pull-
ing down, creating, destroying, chasing every

In the Sierra

material particle from form to form, ever
changing, ever beautiful.

Mr. Delaney arrived this morning. Felt
not a trace of loneliness while he was gone. On
the contrary, I never enjoyed grander com-
pany. The whole wilderness seems to be alive
and familiar, full of humanity. The very
stones seem talkative,sympathetic,brotherly.
No wonder when we consider that we all
have the same Father and Mother.

August 31. Clouds .05. Silky cirrus
wisps and fringes so fine they almost escape
notice. Frost enough for another crop of
crystals on the meadows but none on the
forests. The gentians, golden-rods,asters, etc.,
don't seem to feel it ; neither petals nor leaves
are touched though they seem so tender.
Every day opens and closes like a flower,
noiseless, effortless. Divine peace glows on
all the majestic landscape like the silent en-
thusiastic joy that sometimes transfigures a
noble human face.

September i.- -Clouds .05,- -motionless,

My First Summer

of no particular color, - - ornaments with no
hint of rain or snow in them. Day all calm,
another grand throb of Nature's heart, rip-
ening late flowers and seeds for next summer,
full of life and the thoughts and plans of life
to come, and full of ripe and ready death
beautiful as life, telling divine wisdom and
goodness and immortality. Have been up Mt.
Dana, making haste to see as much as I can
now that the time of departure is drawing
nigh. The views from the summit reach far
and wide, eastward over the Mono Lake and
Desert; mountains beyond mountains look-
ing strangely barren and gray and bare like
heaps of ashes dumped from the sky. The
lake, eight or ten miles in diameter, shines
like a burnished disk of silver, no trees about
its gray, ashy, cindery shores. Looking west-
ward, the glorious forests are seen sweeping
over countless ridges and hills, girdling
domes and subordinate mountains, fringing
in long curving lines the dividing ridges, and
filling every hollow where the glaciers have

[ 320 ]

In the Sierra

spread soil-beds however rocky or smooth.
Looking northward and southward along the
axis of the range, you see the glorious array
of high mountains, crags and peaks and snow,
the fountain-heads of rivers that are flowing
west to the sea through the famous Golden
Gate, and east to hot salt lakes and deserts to
evaporate and hurry back into the sky. In-
numerable lakes are shining like eyes beneath
heavy rock brows, bare or tree fringed, or im-
bedded in black forests. Meadow openings
in the woods seem as numerous as the lakes
or perhaps more so. Far up the moraine-
covered slopes and among crumbling rocks
I found many delicate hardy plants, some of
them still in flower. The best gains of this
trip were the lessons of unity and inter-re-
lation of all the features of the landscape
revealed in general views. The lakes and
meadows are located just where the ancient
glaciers bore heaviest at the foot of the steep-
est parts of their channels, and of course their
longest diameters are approximately parallel

[ 321 ]

My First Summer

with each other and with the belts of forests
growing in long curving lines on the lateral
and medial moraines, and in broad outspread-
ing fields on the terminal beds deposited to-
ward the end of the ice period when the
glaciers were receding. The domes, ridges,
and spurs also show the influence of glacial
action in their forms, which approximately
seem to be the forms of greatest strength with
reference to the stress of oversweeping, past-
sweeping, down-grinding ice-streams; sur-
vivals of the most resisting masses, or those
most favorably situated. How interesting
everything is ! Every rock, mountain, stream,
plant, lake, lawn, forest, garden, bird, beast,
insect seems to call and invite us to come
and learn something of its history and re-
lationship. But shall the poor ignorant
scholar be allowed to try the lessons they of-
fer ? It seems too great and good to be true.
Soon I'll be going to the lowlands. The
bread camp must soon be removed. If I had
a few sacks of flour,an axe, and some matches,

[ 322 ]

In the Sierra

I would build a cabin of pine logs, pile up
plenty of firewood about it and stay all winter
to see the grand fertile snow-storms, watch
the birds and animals that winter thus high,
how they live, how the forests look snow-

,,

; V V

iTO

.S'-.-/' ' ' ..'" ' "-'. . ; .

ONE OF THE HIGHEST MT. RITTER FOUNTAINS

laden or buried, and how the avalanches look
and sound on their way down the mountains.
But now I '11 have to go, for there is nothing
to spare in the way of provisions. I '11 surely
be back, however, surely I '11 be back. No

[ 323 ]

My First Summer

other place has ever so overwhelmingly at-
tracted me as this hospitable, Godful wilder-
ness.

September 2. A grand, red, rosy, crim-
son day, a perfect glory of a day. What
it means I don't know. It is the first marked
change from tranquil sunshine with purple
mornings and evenings and still, white noons.
There is nothing like a storm, however.
The average cloudiness only about .08, and
there is no sighing in the woods to betoken
a big weather change. The sky was red in
the morning and evening, the color not dif-
fused like the ordinary purple glow, but
loaded upon separate well-defined clouds
that remained motionless, as if anchored
around the jagged mountain-fenced hori-
zon. A deep-red cap, bluffy around its sides,
lingered a long time on Mt. Dana and Mt.
Gibbs, drooping so low as to hide most of
their bases, but leaving Dana's round sum-
mit free, which seemed to float separate
and alone over the big crimson cloud. Mam-

[ 324 ]

In the Sierra

moth Mountain, to the south of Gibbs and
Bloody Canon, striped and spotted with
snow-banks and clumps of dwarf pine, was
also favored with a glorious crimson cap, in
the making of which there was no trace of
economy, - - a huge bossy pile colored with
a perfect passion of crimson, that seemed
important enough to be sent off to burn
among the stars in majestic independence.
One is constantly reminded of the infinite
lavishness and fertility of Nature, - -inex-
haustible abundance amid what seems enor-
mous waste. And yet when we look into
any of her operations that lie within reach
of our minds, we learn that no particle of
her material is wasted or worn out. It is
eternally flowing from use to use, beauty
to yet higher beauty ; and we soon cease to
lament waste and death, and rather rejoice
and exult in the imperishable, unspendable
wealth of the universe, and faithfully watch
and wait the reappearance of everything
that melts and fades and dies about us, feel-

[ 325 ]

My First Summer

ing sure that its next appearance will be
better and more beautiful than the last.

I watched the growth of these red-lands
of the sky as eagerly as if new mountain
ranges were being built. Soon the group of
snowy peaks in whose recesses lie the high-
est fountains of the Tuolumne, Merced, and
North Fork of the San Joaquin were deco-
rated with majestic colored clouds like those
already described, but more complicated,
to correspond with the grand fountain-heads
of the rivers they overshadowed. The Sierra
Cathedral, to the south of camp, was over-
shadowed like Sinai. Never before noticed
so fine a union of rock and cloud in form
and color and substance, drawing earth and
sky together as one ; and so human is it,
every feature and tint of color goes to one's
heart, and we shout, exulting in wdld en-
thusiasm as if all the divine show were our
own. More and more, in a place like this,
we feel ourselves part of wild Nature, kin
to everything. Spent most of the day high

[ 326]

In the Sierra

up on the north rim of the valley, com-
manding views of the clouds in all their
red glory spreading their wonderful light
over all the basin, while the rocks and trees
and small Alpine plants at my feet seemed
hushed and thoughtful, as if they also were
conscious spectators of the glorious new
cloud-world.

Here and there, as I plodded farther and
higher, I came to small garden-patches and
ferneries just where one would naturally de-
cide that no plant-creature could possibly
live. But, as in the region about the head
of Mono Pass and the top of Dana, it was
in the wildest, highest places that the most
beautiful and tender and enthusiastic plant-
people were found. Again and again, as I
lingered over these charming plants, I said,
How came you here ? How do you live
through the winter ? Our roots, they ex-
plained, reach far down the joints of the
summer-warmed rocks, and beneath our fine
snow mantle killing frosts cannot reach us,

[ 327 ]

My First Summer

while we sleep away the dark half of the
year dreaming of spring.

Ever since I was allowed entrance into

i

these mountains I have been looking for
cassiope, said to be the most beautiful and
best loved of the heathworts, but, strange to
say, I have not yet found it. On my high
mountain walks I keep muttering, " Cas-
siope, cassiope/ 3 This name, as Calvinists
say, is driven in upon me, notwithstanding
the glorious host of plants that come about
me uncalled as soon as I show myself. Cas-
siope seems the highest name of all the
small mountain-heath people, and as if con-
scious of her worth, keeps out of my way.
I must find her soon, if at all this year.

September 4. - - All the vast sky dome is
clear, filled only with mellow Indian sum-
mer light. The pine and hemlock and fir
cones are nearly ripe and are falling fast
from morning to night, cut off and gath-
ered by the busy squirrels. Almost all the
plants have matured their seeds, their sum-

[ 328 ]

In the Sierra

mer work done ; and the summer crop of
birds and deer will soon be able to follow
their parents to the foothills and plains at
the approach of winter, when the snow be-
gins to fly.

September 5. No clouds. Weather cool,
calm, bright as if no great thing was yet ready
to be done. Have been sketching the North
Tuolumne Church. The sunset gloriously
colored.

September 6. Still another perfectly
cloudless day, purple evening and morning,
all the middle hours one mass of pure serene
sunshine. Soon after sunrise the air grew
warm, and there was no wind. One naturally
halted to see what Nature intended to do.
There is a suggestion of real Indian summer
in the hushed, brooding, faintly hazy weather.
The yellow atmosphere, though thin, is still
plainly of the same general character as that
of eastern Indian summer. The peculiar mel-
lowness is perhaps in part caused by myriads
of ripe spores adrift in the sky.

[ 329 ]

My First Summer

Mr. Delaney now keeps up a solemn talk
about the need of getting away from these
high mountains, telling sad stories of flocks
that perished in storms that broke suddenly
into the midst of fine innocent weather like
this we are now enjoying. "In no case,' 3
said he, " will I venture to stay so high and
far back in the mountains as we now are
later than the middle of this month, no mat-
ter how warm and sunny it may be.' : He
would move the flock slowly at first, a few
miles a day until the Yosemite Creek basin
was reached and crossed, then while linger-
ing in the heavy pine woods should the
weather threaten he could hurry down to
the foothills, where the snow never falls deep
enough to smother a sheep. Of course I am
anxious to see as much of the wilderness as
possible in the few days left me, and I say
again,- -May the good time come when I
can stay as long as I like with plenty of bread,
far and free from trampling flocks, though
I may well be thankful for this generous food-

[ 330 ]

In the Sierra

ful inspiring summer. Anyhow we never
know where we must go nor what guides we
are to get, men, storms, guardian angels,
or sheep. Perhaps almost everybody in the
least natural is guided more than he is ever
aware of. All the wilderness seems to be full
of tricks and plans to drive and draw us up
into God's Light.

Have been busy planning, and baking
bread for at least one more good wild excur-
sion among the high peaks, and surely none,
however hopefully aiming at fortune or fame,
ever felt so gloriously happily excited by the
outlook.

September j. Left camp at daybreak and
made direct for Cathedral Peak, intending
to strike eastward and southward from that
point among the peaks and ridges at the
heads of the Tuolumne, Merced, and San
Joaquin rivers. Down through the pine
woods I made my way, across the Tuolumne
River and meadows, and up the heavily
timbered slope forming the south boundary

[ 331 ]

My First Summer

of the upper Tuolumne basin, along the east
side of Cathedral Peak, and up to its top-
most spire, which I reached at noon, having
loitered by the way to study the fine trees,
-two-leaved pine, mountain pine, albicau-
lis pine, silver fir, and the most charming,
most graceful of all the evergreens, the
mountain hemlock. High, cool, late-flower-
ing meadows also detained me, and lakelets
and avalanche tracks and huge quarries of
moraine rocks above the forests.

All the way up from the Big Meadows to
thebaseof the Cathedral the groundiscovered
with moraine material, the left lateral mo-
raine of the great glacier that must have com-
pletely filled this upper Tuolumne basin.
Higher there are several small terminal mo-
raines of residual glaciers shoved forward at
right angles against the grand simple lateral
of the main Tuolumne Glacier. A fine place
to study mountain sculpture and soil making.
The view from the Cathedral Spires is very
fine and telling in every direction. Innu-

[ 332 ]

In the Sierra

merable peaks, ridges, domes, meadows, lakes,
and woods; the forests extending in long
curving lines and broad fields wherever the
glaciers have left soil for them to grow on,
while the sides of the highest mountains
show a straggling dwarf growth clinging to

GLACIER MEADOW STREWN WITH MORAINE BOULDERS,
10,000 FEET ABOVE THE SEA (NEAR MT. DANA)

rifts in the rocks apparently independent of
soil. The dark heath-like growth on the
Cathedral roof I found to be dwarf snow-
pressed albicaulis pine, about three or four
feet high, but very old looking. Many of

[ 333 ]

My First Summer

them are bearing cones, and the noisy Clarke
crow is eating the seeds, using his long bill
like a woodpecker in digging them out of
the cones. A good many flowers are still in
bloom about the base of the peak, and even
on the roof among the little pines, especially
a woody yellow-flowered eriogonum and a
handsome aster. The body of the Cathe-
dral is nearly square, and the roof slopes are
wonderfully regular and symmetrical, the
ridge trending northeast and southwest. This
direction has apparently been determined by
structure joints in the granite. The gable on
the northeast end is magnificent in size and
simplicity, and at its base there is a big snow-
bank protected by the shadow of the build-
ing. The front is adorned with many pinna-
cles and a tall spire of curious workmanship.
Here too the joints in the rock are seen
to have played an important part in deter-
mining their forms and size and general
arrangement. The Cathedral is said to be
about eleven thousand feet above the sea,

[ 334 ]

In the Sierra

but the height of the building itself above
the level of the ridge it stands on is about
fifteen hundred feet. A mile or so to the
westward there is a handsome lake, and the
glacier-polished granite about it is shining so
brightly it is not easy in some places to trace

i i

FRONT OF CATHEDRAL PEAK

the line between the rock and water, both
shining alike. Of this lake with its silvery
basin and bits of meadow and groves I have
a fine view from the spires ; also of Lake Te-
naya, Cloud's Rest, and the South Dome of
Yosemite, Mt. Starr King, Mt. Hoffman,

[ 335 1

My First Summer

the Merced peaks, and the vast multitude of
snowy fountain peaks extending far north
and south along the axis of the range. No
feature, however, of all the noble landscape
as seen from here seems more wonderful than
the Cathedral itself, a temple displaying Na-
ture's best masonry and sermons in stones.
How often I have gazed at it from the tops
of hills and ridges, and through openings in
the forests on my many short excursions, de-
voutly wondering, admiring, longing ! This
I may say is the first time I have been at
church in California, led here at last, every
door graciously opened for the poor lonely
worshiper. In our best times everything turns
into religion, all the world seems a church
and the mountains altars. And lo, here at last
in front of the Cathedral is blessed cassiope,
ringing her thousands of sweet-toned bells,
the sweetest church music I ever enjoyed.
Listening, admiring, until late in the after-
noon I compelled myself to hasten away east-
ward back of rough, sharp, spiry, splintery

[ 336 ]

In the Sierra

peaks, all of them granite like the Cathe-
dral, sparkling with crystals, feldspar,
quartz, hornblende, mica, tourmaline. Had
a rather difficult walk and creep across an
immense snow and ice cliff which gradually
increased in steepness as I advanced until it
was almost impassable. Slipped on a danger-
ous place, but managed to stop by digging
my heels into the thawing surface just on the
brink of a yawning ice gulf. Camped beside
a little pool and a group of crinkled dwarf
pines ; and as I sit by the fire trying to write
notes the shallow pool seems fathomless with
the infinite starry heavens in it, while the
onlooking rocks and trees, tiny shrubs and
daisies and sedges, brought forward in the
fire-glow, seem full of thought as if about to
speak aloud and tell all their wild stories. A
marvelously impressive meeting in which
every one has something worth while to tell.
And beyond the fire-beams out in the solemn
darkness, how impressive is the music of a
choir of rills singing their way down from

[ 337 ]

My First Summer

the snow to the river ! And when we call
to mind that thousands of these rejoicing rills
are assembled in each one of the main
streams, we wonder the less that our Sierra
rivers are songful all the way to the sea.

About sundown saw a flock of dun gray-
ish sparrows going to roost in crevices of
a crag above the big snow-field. Charm-
ing little mountaineers ! Found a species
of sedge in flower within eight or ten feet
of a snow-bank. Judging by the looks of
the ground, it can hardly have been out in
the sunshine much longer than a week, and
it is likely to be buried again in fresh snow
in a month or so, thus making a winter
about ten months long, while spring, sum-
mer, and autumn are crowded and hurried
into two months. How delightful it is to
be alone here ! How wild everything is, -
wild as the sky and as pure ! Never shall I
forget this big, divine day, - - the Cathe-
dral and its thousands of cassiope bells, and
the landscapes around them, and this camp

[ 338 ]

In the Sierra

in the gray crags above the woods, with its
stars and streams and snow.

September 8.- - Day of climbing, scram-
bling, sliding on the peaks around the high-
est sources of the Tuolumne and Merced.
Climbed three of the most commanding of
the mountains, whose names I don't know;
crossed streams and huge beds of ice and
snow more than I could keep count of.
Neither could I keep count of the lakes
scattered on tablelands and in the cirques
of the peaks, and in chains in the canons,
linked together by the streams, - - a tre-
mendously wild gray wilderness of hacked,
shattered crags, ridges, and peaks, a few
clouds drifting over and through the midst
of them as if looking for work. In gen-
eral views all the immense round landscape
seems raw and lifeless as a quarry, yet the
most charming flowers were found rejoicing
in countless nooks and garden-like patches
everywhere. I must have done three or four
days' climbing work in this one. Limbs

[ 339 ]

My First Summer

perfectly tireless until near sundown, when
I descended into the main upper Tuolumne

Mt. Ritter

4

W

VIEW OF UPPER TUOLUMNE VALLEY

valley at the foot of Mt. Lyell, the camp
still eight or ten miles distant. Going up

[ 340 ]

In the Sierra

through the pine woods past the Soda
Springs Dome in the dark, where there is
much fallen timber, and when all the ex-
citement of seeing things was wanting, I
was tired. Arrived at the main camp at
nine o'clock, and soon was sleeping sound
as death.

September 9. Weariness rested away and
I feel eager and ready for another excursion
a month or two long in the same wonderful
wilderness. Now, however, I must turn
toward the lowlands, praying and hoping
Heaven will shove me back again.

The most telling thing learned in these
mountain excursions is the influence of cleav-
age joints on the features sculptured from the
general mass of the range. Evidently the de-
nudation has been enormous, while the in-
evitable outcome is subtle balanced beauty.
Comprehended in general views, the features
of the wildest landscape seem to be as har-
moniously related as the features of a human
face. Indeed, they look human and radiate

34i

My First Summer

spiritual beauty, divine thought, however
covered and concealed by rock and snow.

Mr. Delaney has hardly had time to ask
me how I enjoyed my trip, though he has
facilitated and encouraged my plans all sum-
mer, and declares I '11 be famous some day,
a kind guess that seems strange and incredi-
ble to a wandering wilderness-lover with
never a thought or dream of fame while
humbly trying to trace and learn and enjoy
Nature's lessons.

The camp stuff is now packed on the
horses, and the flock is headed for the home
ranch. Away we go, down through the pines,
leaving the lovely lawn where we have
camped so long. I wonder if I '11 ever see it
again. The sod is so tough and close it is
scarcely at all injured by the sheep. Fortu-
nately they are not fond of silky glacier
meadow grass. The day is perfectly clear,
not a cloud or the faintest hint of a cloud is
visible, and there is no wind. I wonder if in
all the world, at a height of nine thousand

[ 342 ]

In the Sierra

feet, weather so steadily, faithfully calm and
bright and hospitable may anywhere else be
found. We are going away fearing destruc-
tive storms, though it is difficult to conceive
weather changes so great.

Though the water is now low in the river,
the usual difficulty occurred in getting the
flock across it. Every sheep seemed to be in-
vincibly determined to die any sort of dry
death rather than wet its feet. Carlo has
learned the sheep business as perfectly as the
best shepherd, and it is interesting to watch
his intelligent efforts to push or frighten the
silly creatures into the water. They had to
be fairly crowded and shoved over the bank ;
and when at last one crossed because it could
not push its way back, the whole flock sud-
denly plunged in headlong together, as if
the river was the only desirable part of the
world. Aside from mere money profit one
would rather herd wolves than sheep. As soon
as they clambered up the opposite bank, they
began baaing and feeding as if nothing un-

[ 343 ]

My First Summer

usual had happened. We crossed the mead-
ows and drove slowly up the south rim of the
valley through the same woods I had passed
on my way to Cathedral Peak, and camped
for the night by the side of a small pond on
top of the big lateral moraine.

September 10. In the morning at day-
break not one of the two thousand sheep was
in sight. Examining the tracks, we discov-
ered that they had been scattered, perhaps
by a bear. In a few hours all were found
and gathered into one flock again. Had fine
view of a deer. How graceful and perfect
in every way it seemed as compared with the
silly, dusty, tousled sheep! From the high
ground hereabouts had another grand view
to the northward, a heaving, swelling sea
of domes and round-backed ridges fringed
with pines, and bounded by innumerable
sharp-pointed peaks, gray and barren-look-
ing, though so full of beautiful life. Another
day of the calm, cloudless kind, purple in the
morning and evening. The evening glow has

[ 344 ]

In the Sierra

been very marked for the last two or three
weeks. Perhaps the "zodiacal light.' 3

September 11. Cloudless. Slight frost.
Calm. Fairly started down hill, and now
are camped at the west end meadows of
Lake Tenaya, a charming place. Lake
smooth as glass, mirroring its miles of gla-
cier-polished pavements and bold mountain
walls. Find aster still in flower. Here is
about the upper limit of the dwarf form
of the goldcup oak,- -eight thousand feet
above sea-level, reaching about two thou-
sand feet higher than the California black
oak (Quercus Calif ornicus^. Lovely evening,
the lake reflections after dark marvelously
impressive.

September 12.- -Cloudless day, all pure
sun-gold. Among the magnificent silver firs
once more, within two miles of the brink
of Yosemite, at the famous Portuguese bear
camp. Chaparral of goldcup oak, manza-
nita, and ceanothus abundant hereabouts,
wanting about the Tuolumne meadows,

[ 345 ]

My First Summer

though the elevation is but little higher
there. The two-leaved pine, though far
more abundant about the Tuolumne meadow
region, reaches its greatest size on stream-
sides hereabouts and around meadows that
are rather boggy. All the best dry ground
is taken by the magnificent silver fir, which
here reaches its greatest size and forms a
well-defined belt. A glorious tree. Have
fine bed of its boughs to-night.

September 13. Camp this evening at
Yoscmite Creek, close to the stream, on a
little sand flat near our old camp-ground.
The vegetation is already brown and yel-
low and dry ; the creek almost dry also.
The slender form of the two-leaved pine
on its banks is, I think, the handsomest
I have anywhere seen. It might easily pass
at first sight for a distinct species, though
surely only a variety (Murray ana}, due to
crowded and rapid growth on good soil.
The yellow pine is as variable, or perhaps
more so. The form here and a thousand

[ 346 ]

In the Sierra

feet higher, on crumbling rocks, is broad
branching, with closely furrowed, reddish
bark, large cones, and long leaves. It is one
of the hardiest of pines, and has wonderful
vitality. The tassels of long, stout needles
shining silvery in the sun, when the wind
is blowing them all in the same direction,
is one of the most splendid spectacles these
glorious Sierra forests have to show. This
variety of Pinus ponderosa is regarded as a
distinct species, Pinus Jeffreyi, by some bot-
anists. The basin of this famous Yosemite
stream is extremely rocky, - - seems fairly
to be paved with domes like a street with
big cobblestones. I wonder if I shall ever
be allowed to explore it. It draws me so
strongly, I would make any sacrifice to
try to read its lessons. I thank God for
this glimpse of it. The charms of these
mountains are beyond all common reason,
unexplainable and mysterious as life itself.
September 14. Nearly all day in mag-
nificent fir forest, the top branches laden

[ 347]

My First Summer

with superb erect gray cones shining with
beads of pure balsam. The squirrels are cut-
ting them off at a great rate. Bump, bump,
I hear them falling, soon to be gathered
and stored for winter bread. Those that
chance to be left by the industrious har-
vesters drop the scales and bracts when
fully ripe, and it is fine to see the purple-
winged seeds flying in swirling, merry-look-
ing flocks seeking their fortunes. The bole
and dead limbs of nearly every tree in the
main forest-belt are ornamented by con-
spicuous tufts and strips of a yellow lichen.

Camped for the night at Cascade Creek,
near the Mono Trail crossing. Manzanita
berries now ripe. Cloudiness to-day about
.10. The sunset very rich, flaming purple
and crimson showing gloriously through
the aisles of the woods.

September 15. - The weather pure gold,
cloudiness about .05, white cirrus flecks and
pencilings around the horizon. Move two
or three miles and camp at Tamarack Flat.

[ 348 ]

In the Sierra

Wandering in the woods here back of the
pines which bound the meadows, I found
very noble specimens of the magnificent
silver fir, the tallest about two hundred and
forty feet high and five feet in diameter
four feet from the ground.

September 16. Crawled slowly four or
five miles to-day through the glorious for-
est to Crane Flat, where we are camped for
the night. The forests we so admired in
summer seem still more beautiful and sub-
lime in this mellow autumn light. Lovely
starry night, the tall, spiring tree-tops re-
lieved in jet black against the sky. I linger
by the fire, loath to go to bed.

September 17. Left camp early. Ran
over the Tuolumne divide and down a few
miles to a grove of sequoias that I had
heard of, directed by the Don. They oc-
cupy an area of perhaps less than a hun-
dred acres. Some of the trees are noble,
colossal old giants, surrounded by magnifi-
cent sugar pines and Douglas spruces. The

[ 349 ]

My First Summer

perfect specimens not burned or broken are
singularly regular and symmetrical, though
not at all conventional, showing infinite
variety in general unity and harmony ; the
noble shafts with rich purplish brown fluted
bark, free of limbs for one hundred and
fifty feet or so, ornamented here and there
with leafy rosettes ; main branches of the
oldest trees very large, crooked and rugged,
zigzagging stiffly outward seemingly lawless,
yet unexpectedly stopping just at the right
distance from the trunk and dissolving in
dense bossy masses of branchlets, thus making
a regular though greatly varied outline, -
a cylinder of leafy, outbulging spray masses,
terminating in a noble dome, that may be
recognized while yet far off upheaved against
the sky above the dark bed of pines and firs
and spruces, the king of all conifers, not
only in size but in sublime majesty of be-
havior and port. I found a black, charred
stump about thirty feet in diameter and
eighty or ninety feet high, a venerable,

[ 350 ]

In Tuolumne Sequoia Grove

In the Sierra

impressive old monument of a tree that in
its prime may have been the monarch of
the grove ; seedlings and saplings growing
up here and there, thrifty and hopeful, giving
no hint of the dying out of the species. Not
any unfavorable change of climate, but only
fire threatens the existence of these noblest
of God's trees. Sorry I was not able to get a
count of the old monument's annual rings.

Camp this evening at Hazel Green, on
the broad back of the dividing ridge near
our old camp-ground when we were on
the way up the mountains in the spring.
This ridge has the finest sugar pine groves
and finest manzanita and ceanothus thick-
ets I have yet found on all this wonderful
summer journey.

September i 8. - - Made a long descent on
the south side of the divide to Brown's
Flat, the grand forests now left above us,
though the sugar pine still flourishes fairly
well, and with the yellow pine, libocedrus,
and Douglas spruce, makes forests that would

My First Summer

be considered most wonderful in any other
part of the world.

The Indians here, with great concern,
pointed to an old garden patch on the flat
and told us to keep away from it. Perhaps
some of their tribe are buried here.

September 1 9. Camped this evening at
Smith's Mill, on the first broad mountain
bench or plateau reached in ascending the
range, where pines grow large enough for
good lumber. Here wheat, apples, peaches,
and grapes grow, and we were treated to
wine and apples. The wine I did n't like,
but Mr. Delaney and the Indian driver and
the shepherd seemed to think the stuff di-
vine. Compared to sparkling Sierra water
fresh from the heavens, it seemed a dull,
muddy, stupid drink. But the apples, best
of fruits, how delicious they were ! fit
for gods or men.

On the way down from Brown's Flat we
stopped at Bower Cave, and I spent an hour
in it, - - one of the most novel and interest-

[ 352 ]

In the Sierra

ing of all Nature's underground mansions.
Plenty of sunlight pours into it through the
leaves of the four maple trees growing in
its mouth, illuminating its clear, calm pool
and marble chambers, a charming place,
ravishingly beautiful, but the accessible parts
of the walls sadly disfigured with names of
vandals.

September 20.- The weather still golden
and calm, but hot. We are now in the foot-
hills, and all the conifers are left behind
except the gray Sabine pine. Camped at
the Dutch Boy's Ranch, where there are
extensive barley fields now showing nothing
save dusty stubble.

September 21. - - A terribly hot, dusty,
sun-burned day, and as nothing was to be
gained by loitering where the flock could
find nothing to eat save thorny twigs and
chaparral, we made a long drive, and be-
fore sundown reached the home ranch on
the yellow San Joaquin plain.

September 22.- The sheep were let out

[ 353 ]

My First Summer

of the corral one by one, this morning, and
counted, and strange to say, after all their
long, adventurous wanderings in bewilder-
ing rocks and brush and streams, scattered
by bears, poisoned by azalea, kalmia, alkali,
all are accounted for. Of the two thousand
and fifty that left the corral in the spring
lean and weak, two thousand and twenty-
five have returned fat and strong. The losses
are : ten killed by bears, one by a rattle-
snake, one that had to be killed after it had
broken its leg on a boulder slope, and one
that ran away in blind terror on being acci-
dentally separated from the flock, thir-
teen all told. Of the other twelve doomed
never to return, three were sold to ranch-
men and nine were made camp mutton.

Here ends my forever memorable first
High Sierra excursion. I have crossed the
Range of Light, surely the brightest and
best of all the Lord has built ; and rejoicing
in its glory, I gladly, gratefully, hopefully
pray I may see it again.

3/3ST

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